A Time of Reckoning
by Blackdeer7
Summary: When the war against the Reapers seemed lost, a wave of energy released from the Crucible ended all activity from the machines across the entire galaxy in a single motion. In the aftermath, the crew of the Normandy and the survivors on Earth attempt to unravel the mystery of what exactly had happened. Post-ME3. A re-imaged ending...
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

Like many, I was dissatisfied with the ending that was presented in ME3- so much so that I had to stop playing the game because it felt like someone had punched me in the gut. Eventually, I was able to play the game again, but even after all the new DLC content; I was still disappointed and frustrated by the ending, so I decided to write my own. I know this is not the first "fix-it" ending and I highly doubt it will be the last- FFN is a great avenue for cathartic writing- but I hope that you (the reader) will find it enjoyable. Plus, because of the mysteries introduced, I prefer to think of this as a "re-imaged ending" rather than a "fix-it" ending. *grin*

Spoiler: My goal in this story was to find a way to keep all of the events of the ME trilogy and the DLC content canon, but also keep my Shepard alive. The missions within ME3, the indoctrination of TIM, the run to the Citadel beam and yes, even the conversation with the "god-child" still happened. The events following "The Choice" diverge into completely new territory though. Also, as the story unfolds some new mysteries will be revealed, but I promise that by the end of the story they will all be addressed.

One other tidbit which is specific to this chapter: Italicized words with no quotations are current - in the moment - thoughts. Italicized words in quotations are dialogue that has occurred in the past.

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Chapter 1

It was dark and cool and dry. Dusty. The acrid scent of scorched flesh and metal saturated the air along with the unmistakable pungency of dirt. There was no other sound than the slow labored gasps of lungs in pain. Fighting for breath. No movement other than the faint twisting of broken bones and raw skin. No feeling except that of pain and burning and the ache of a tortured body.

Eyes opened. A painful movement that only confirmed the darkness.

A sensation of heaviness was everywhere. Immovable. Suffocating.

A hand twisted, dirt and rubble moved. More pain, but now a constant, throbbing agony.

The other hand twisted, more dirt and debris shifted with the same sharp sting that ebbed to a dull pounding.

There was no pain below the waist, no feeling at all. A blissful nothingness.

_Where?_

Somewhere dark. Somewhere cold. Somewhere alone. Not death, which was expected. Nor life, it seemed.

_What?_

A faint flash of glimmering lights gave the answer, and with it came memories…

She had thought to die when the explosion and flames overtook her body. The flashing lights reminded her of the choices—blue, green, red. Surrender. Submit. Oppose.

Full memory came back.

"_Wake up."_

The voice had been soft, like a gentle breeze over summer grass, smooth and caressing as silk on a naked body. And evil. A malevolence which seemed more potent because of the soft spoken confidence. The matter-of-fact logic it produced when it explained their purpose.

"_Like a cleansing fire, we restore balance."_

Sovereign never felt like a force of nature to her. She felt the animosity, the superiority, when it dispassionately threatened the existence of organic life. She instinctually understood that the open hostility carried within its every word expressed a deeper meaning: malice.

"_I am beyond your comprehension."_

Sovereign said that organic life was an accidental mutation and that the Reapers were the pinnacle of evolution. Of existence. Balance was never part of its equation.

"_You exist because we allow it and you will end because we demand it. I am the vanguard of your destruction."_

If Sovereign was the herald, then Harbinger was the sword and shield.

"_We are the Harbinger of your destiny." _

It was a tool that taunted and mocked and threatened.

"_You cannot escape your destiny, Shepard."_

Then the crucible was discovered, an unknown quantity, and it became the last hope of the current cycle.

"_We believed the concept had been eradicated. Clearly, organics are more resourceful than we realized."_

They weren't all-knowing. They admitted fallibility. Synthetics that destroy organics so organics wouldn't make synthetics that would eventually destroy organics. A convoluted cycle of repetitive existence.

"_You have altered the variables."_

They acknowledged that she had changed the parameters. Because of her something was different this time around. Then they had given her choices.

Oppose them. Fight them as she had been doing all these many years. Destroy them, end the current cycle, but commit genocide and in the process kill herself.

"_The crucible will not discriminate. All synthetics will be targeted."_

If she chose to annihilate the Reapers, she would also wipeout all synthetic life. The geth would be massacred. What of the quarians who had uploaded the geth into their suits? Perhaps them, too. They said the survivors would be able to rebuild, but eventually new synthetics would be created. These synthetics would target their creators as in previous ages. Ultimately, she would only stop the Reaper's harvesting cycle, not the cycle of conflict between organics and synthetics. There was no stopping that, nor could she stop her own death. She was part synthetic, so she would die, as well.

She could surrender to them. Control them as the Illusive Man could not. Die, but live on in the enemy. She could become a Reaper.

"_Seize control of the Reapers. We will be yours to direct and control as you see fit."_

They said she would no longer be organic. The connection to her kind would be lost although she would be aware of their existence. She could control the Reapers though, stop them and send them away. She could end the current conflict and save the galaxy's masses. But if her connection to her kind was lost, what then of her humanity? Compassion. Love. Hope. Over the course of centuries, how would she not be corrupted by the Reaper's primary objective? Without the connection to her humanity what would maintain her focus on the galaxy's sentient species right to choose?

There was another alternative.

Submit to them. Synthesize organic and synthetic life. Give up her life to jump start the next stage of evolution.

"_Add your energy to the crucible's. It is the ideal solution."_

Organics and synthetics would become one. There would be no more conflict. They said that organics of previous cycles hadn't been ready before, but were ready now. They never explained why. They never explained how.

She had felt pushed towards the third option. Directed towards it as though it was the logical next step of organic life's evolution and the best way to end the 50,000 year cycle. The Reapers were not beyond the influence of this choice though. They had calculated that this was the only way that would complete their primary function—to end the conflict between organics and synthetics—but they did so while disregarding the fact that this monumental feat had already been accomplished in this cycle. The quarians and geth had made peace after almost three centuries of conflict. They were working together to restore balance to their home world, Rannoch. She was uncertain why this new variable had not been taken into consideration.

They had said that organics seek perfection through technology. That was not entirely true. What of spiritual pursuits? What of intellectual endeavors? What of artistic expression? Not all organics saw technology as the pinnacle of their highest potential.

Then there was the weight of dictating the course of evolution for every organic and synthetic being in the known universe. Every life form would be altered without consent. Free will gone, there would be no choice. An evolutionary path mandated by one individual.

"_Do what you must."_

There had been only one option where a warning had been given, but it was the only option that felt right to her. Her heart and mind had screamed defiantly at all three choices, she didn't want to die, but if she had to in order to stop the Reapers, then only one of them appealed to her instincts.

From the beginning her mission had been to stop the Reapers, there was no way she was going to become one of them. Too many variables existed; too many unanswered questions and she felt the eventual loss of her humanity would ultimately become a terrible price for the galaxy to pay. Like the Illusive Man who wanted to control them, but ended up as an indoctrinated pawn. His betrayal to humanity has been absolute and it was all done under the obscene effects of Reaper influence. She also didn't agree with force feeding an evolutionary path down the throat of the known galaxy. Life is woven within chaos. The merging of organic and synthetic life would not end the chaos as the Reapers had been created to do, it would just create another form of chaos. To assume that there was only one evolutionary pinnacle for organics and synthetics to achieve assumes that they were on converging developmental paths. She would not, could not, make that assumption for every life form in the galaxy. Saren had sought this end. He saw himself as the future, the fusion of organic and synthetic life comprising the strengths of both but the weaknesses of neither. But he had been perverted by the Reapers, just as the Illusive Man had been perverted, to think this way. For her, there was only one choice that was completely free of Reaper influence.

Three years ago, the Reapers had wanted to harvest her body. They said she was different and they sought to absorb her organic material. She was different because she never gave up; she never gave in and would never give herself up freely to them now. She would hold onto her humanity until her death because she still had hope. If organics differed now from the previous ages, then maybe they would be able to maintain the balance with synthetics. The quarians and geth had just stepped upon that path and she felt they deserved the chance to find unification. She still had faith. She believed, albeit sometimes with a small kick in the ass, that organics and synthetics could learn their own art of symbiosis just as the Normandy crew had done so successfully with EDI. The choice wasn't easy though because she also had guilt. EDI's relationship with Joker was of no less value than her relationship with Liara and with immeasurable regret she knew her decision would end both of them before their time.

"_No matter what happens—you mean everything to me, Liara. You always will."_

"_Shepard, I… I am yours."_

She said a silent prayer as she raised her pistol to the machine and sighted in the energy conduit. She had prayed not for herself, but for those whose lives she was about to end. She asked for peace so the sacrifices made now and before would have longstanding meaning. She said a reverent goodbye to the one who held her heart, who was bound to her soul and who had called to her across the ages. She had prayed that fate would allow them to unite once more, so when the time of grace arrived they could begin anew in the next life.

When her pistol fired on the machine she had expected instant death, but that didn't happen. Instead, there was only heat and a red fire that wrapped around her and choked her breathing so that she gasped and fought for life, for sanity, for escape.

_Liara, I'm sorry. I wish…_

She felt pain in her lungs once again as they fought for breath within the dusty, cold blackness. With each labored rise and fall of her chest, dirt and rubble shifted adding to the thickness of the air and the weight of the debris suffocating her. As she floated along the waves of fading images, the heaviness on her body began to recede and the pain numbing her mind eventually dissolved all coherent thought.

Then there was nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

A special thank you goes out to those who have helped this story take shape by allowing me to use them as a sounding board for ideas and then took the time to preview the chapters: Lyaksandra, my beta-reader whose invaluable skills have been the key to tipping the balance with my war on grammar; SherryE, who offered poignant feedback on ch1; and pink ninja potato, who is graciously offering feedback on the whole kit and caboodle.

Much gratitude goes out to all of those who have read, fav'd, and reviewed this story. The encouragement and feedback are fantastic, not to mention motivating. For those who are following this story, my plan is to update every Thursday. If I get far enough ahead in the chapters, I may update on Sunday, as well. *crosses fingers*

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Chapter 2

Liara T'Soni stormed through the doors of the Normandy's war room. "We have to get back to Earth!"

Major Kaidan Alenko, Alliance soldier, the second human Spectre and now the highest ranking officer aboard the ship looked up from the mess of wires he was sorting. "We're working on it, Liara."

"Not hard enough, Major!" said the asari vehemently. "It's been eight hours since we landed on this planet. We should be back in the air already!"

With only seconds to spare before the red corona expanding through the Sol system overtook the Normandy, the frigate made a desperate bid for escape and entered the mass relay. Instantaneously they were transported to the Dakka system in the Nubian Expanse, but the red wave of energy had followed and engulfed the ship as soon as they emerged from the Dakka Relay then continued its course through the rest of the system. To add to the chaos, EDI's systems had gone offline and only through Joker's deft maneuvering and the frigate's emergency backup systems were they able to land on Pragia, a lush jungle planet, without any major damage to the ship or additional injuries to the crew.

"Liara, we're working as fast as we can." Kaidan, who was kneeling next to the command console that activated the war map, stood and met the asari's gaze directly. The large circular room was bathed in a soft reddish-hue from the recessed light fixtures and imbued everything it touched with a somber countenance. Seeing the exhaustion and pain in the researcher's blue eyes, he added, "I know how you feel."

Liara thought of her last rushed moments with her lover as she and the Major—because of injures they both sustained while running toward the Citadel beam—were whisked away from the battlefield by the Normandy. She remembered the hollow pit in her stomach as Shepard smiled sadly, her intense green eyes burning their essence into her heart, and then commanded them to leave. When Liara closed her eyes, she could still see the stark, pale green luminance emanating from the haunted stare of someone who had already determined their fate, but was waiting for destiny to catch up. "No, I don't think you do."

"Yes, I do!" countered Kaidan hotly. "I want to get back to Earth as much as you do! I want to know what the hell happened! But communications are down and navigation is still offline. We need this ship fully functional before we go charging back out there. Dying because we ran into an asteroid is not part of the plan."

Taking in a sharp breath of air, Liara bit back the retort on the tip of her tongue. She knew she was lashing out because of anger, frustration and fear and that the Major just happened to be a convenient target. Her anger and frustration stemmed from the lack of any news about what was happening on Earth or what happened after the Crucible triggered the red supernova that cascaded through space. The fact that the energy followed them through the relay was of great concern to her as well and generated a lot of unanswered questions. Her fear was derived from the unknown status of her lover. She had no connection to her network; no sources from which to formulate answers. As an information broker with no information, she felt impotent and blind. "Yes, of course. I know. It's just…" She tilted her head toward the floor, the forefinger and thumb of her left hand pinching the bridge of her nose, and sighed heavily. "What else can I do to help?"

Kaidan cocked his head to the side looking at one of the surveillance cameras on the wall. "EDI… Can you give me a status update on our communications?"

The doors of the war room swooshed open and EDI's mobile platform stepped through moving quickly, but gracefully across the room. Without hesitation, the synthetic form replied, "Primary and secondary tightbeam communicators appear to be online, but off-world communication is still unsuccessful. Specialist Traynor has confirmed that both the primary and secondary QEC are back online, but are also unable to make a connection off-world. We have yet to ascertain if something is blocking our communication signals or if there is no one to receive them." When she reached Kaidan, she handed him a datapad. "Here are the results on the system wide diagnostic checks."

"That's what I am experiencing in my lab, as well," said Liara. "It's as though the beam that followed us through the relay disabled our ability to communicate beyond this system."

After peering at the datapad, Kaidan said, "Along with the Reapers."

"Yes," replied Liara. "Apparently so." Her tone was hesitant, as though she couldn't quite make herself believe the conflict with the sentient machine race was over. Even though communications couldn't reach beyond the Dakka system, their long-range scanners had discovered that Reaper activity was no longer present in the system. Like a light switch being flipped, all Reaper signatures inexplicably ceased the moment they had passed through the relay. She assumed it was tied to the red energy just as she assumed that Shepard was somehow involved. When it came to the Reapers, her lover had a knack for being at that right place at the right time.

"No new Reaper signals have been detected since we landed," said EDI, confirming the information.

Turning towards EDI, Liara asked, "How are you feeling?" Although the AI didn't experience life like organics, Liara, through her conversations with Shepard, knew that the synthetic being standing before her shared many traits similar to organics—a sense of curiosity, a desire to evolve and a survival instinct. She also had a very dry, and at times outright uncomfortable, sense of humor.

Swiveling on her right foot, EDI directed her answer toward the asari. "I was offline for 382.42 seconds after the beam flooded the Normandy and a foreign program attempted to gain access to my root processes. It was… discomforting. Not unlike the struggle when Dr. Coré's program attempted a hostile takeover. I initiated a full self-diagnostic subroutine after the incident. No anomalies were found. Now, my first priority is restoring functionality to the Normandy."

"Good," said Kaidan, amiably. "Keep me informed on the progress."

EDI tilted her head slightly. Although functionally unnecessary, she had long ago concluded that mimicking the subtle mannerism of human body language reduced interactive tension with organics by 86.7 percent. "As you wish, Major. I will return this body to the bridge. Jeff says its physical proximity… motivates him."

Liara chuckled. "I'm sure."

Kaidan waited for EDI to leave the room before he turned to the researcher with a concerned look on his face. "She will make these repairs a lot easier, but I still want someone double-checking the results of her self-diagnostic. Last thing we need is for a rogue AI to start smashing heads." Thinking back to Mars, he ruefully added, "Trust me, it's not pleasant."

"Agreed," said Liara. "Tali or Engineer Adams would be the logical choices, but they have got their hands full with the ship's engine and shield repairs."

EDI's voice sounded out from empty space. "You may want to consider Specialist Traynor for this task. She worked extensively with my core functions during the retrofit and is able to analyze and decipher unorthodox patterns of code with an unusually high rate of success."

Kaidan mentally slapped himself. He'd fallen into the habit of thinking of EDI as being isolated to the synthetic form that walked through the ship, which wasn't the case. While a part of her did reside in that form, she existed primarily within the Normandy and could monitor every conversation on the ship simultaneously. "Thank you, EDI."

Liara raised an eyebrow, her curiosity genuinely piqued. "You don't have a problem with Specialist Traynor double-checking your results?"

"On the contrary," said the soothing bodiless voice, "I welcome the scrutiny. There are fifty terabytes of information to sort through. I will have declared my supremacy before she has analyzed a third of the data." After a momentary pause, EDI continued in her even, but matter-of-fact tone, "That was a joke."

When Liara saw Kaidan's initially pensive glance, she raised her right hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. She had gotten used to the AI's humor and had prepared herself for the punch line, but then without warning, uncontrollable giddiness rippled through her body, threatening to subvert her emotional resolve. To calm herself, she clenched her left hand into a fist and focused her attention on taking long, deep breaths. Worry and lack of sleep had put her nerves on edge. Without rest, it was just a matter of time before she lost control all together and broke down. In her mind, that was not an option. Not only would it be a waste of precious time, but it would also hinder the progression of the Normandy's repair and speed at which they could get back to Earth.

After a few moments of meditative breathing, Liara came up with a way to keep herself busy and also assist with the Normandy's repairs. "I'm going back to my lab and will try to manually reroute our communication trajectories."

Being unfamiliar with the finer nuances of long-range communication technology, Kaidan asked, "How will that help?"

"It will tell us if the primary and secondary communication networks are offline in every solar system or just this one," explained Liara. "And fabricating a new tunnel around the main comm buoys, basically bouncing the signal off redundant groupings, we might get lucky and make a connection with someone outside of this system."

Kaidan nodded his head in approval. "Good thinking. Let me know what you find."

"Of course," said the researcher before heading toward the door.

"And Liara…" Kaidan waited until the asari turned to look at him. "I'm sure Shepard's alright."

Liara shook her head in rueful contemplation. She knew the Major was only offering the comforting platitude to be kind, but she ruminated on the comment anyway—explored it with not just her logical mind, but with her heart and soul. She took in a slow, measured breath, a physical act reflecting the inner struggle as she wrestled with her worry and concern. Once she was able to allay her fears and soothe her agitated thoughts, the anxiousness rippling through her body melted away leaving a serene clarity in its passing. She didn't feel the ache of an open wound as she had three years ago while watching the destruction of the Normandy SR-1 and being witness to her lover's death. Instead, she felt lonely and isolated, but not grief-stricken. Not yet. Like a single star shining brightly on the obsidian backdrop of space, she still had hope that her lover was alive. Shepard had promised to always come back to her, and she would hold her lover to that promise. The researcher also took heart in the knowledge that she had overcome insurmountable odds to find Shepard once before and she would do so again. Without hesitation. The Goddess hadn't taken Shepard from her then; she would not take her now. Even if she had to travel the planes of hell itself, she would find Shepard.

As Liara breathed in deeply, a soft, knowing smile curled on her lips. "So am I."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Miranda Lawson looked across the desolation of the war torn city of London. Noxious winds blew from the west, cool but cloying. The smell of decay was everywhere and the residue from the cataclysmic battle that raged here for months on end could be seen in every direction. Nothing had escaped the devastation of the war. What once were majestic buildings were now only piles of rubble on the ground. Land and aircraft were haphazardly strewn in every direction like crumpled tin cans, while casualties, both injured and dying, numbering too many for the counting filled the empty spaces in between. Swarms of emergency crews and vehicles were aiding and transporting the wounded to the nearest mobile hospitals, while others rigorously scoured the area for survivors. Human and turian, salarian and krogan, each were helping the other—no past offence dividing them in this moment of hard won victory.

As her eyes canvassed the grey landscape, black clouds thundered overhead. The sky was dark, but blissfully empty of Reapers. Eight hours before, without warning or sign, a red hue blanketed the skies and then the enemy had disintegrated in front of her eyes, the soot of their remains slowly sifting down like dirty snow falling from tainted heavens. The enemy ground forces met with a similar fate, abruptly collapsing, then withering and decaying with a frenzied rapidity reminiscent of paper set to flame. All that remained of them was dust and ash. Or so it seemed. The ex-Cerberus officer wasn't convinced this war was over, but she couldn't deny that there was some kind of momentary reprieve. At least on Earth. As far as she knew, nobody had heard from their allies since the fortuitous albeit unexpected triumph.

Although she refused to let her guard down completely, Miranda had no defense against the sense of awe and astonishment that overtook her when she thought of the Reapers being gone. Just when the battle had appeared hopeless, when the Alliance troops were awash in a tide of enemies that seemed to have no limit, the tables were turned. Like a cleansing fire, the wave of red energy purged the Reapers it touched and promptly ended the conflict. The Reapers were no more. Turned to dust. Her relief and amazement were mixed with a bubbling euphoria- an uncharacteristic girlish giddiness which she attributed to her mental and physical exhaustion. She had seen many fantastic and wondrous events in her life, but this is the first one that brought the word 'miracle' to her mind.

She didn't know what caused the end of the Reapers, but she knew that Shepard was somehow involved. The commander had always been crafty, tenacious and single-minded in her pursuit to defeat the enemy, but when she said her goodbye over the vid comm, Miranda had noticed that the Spectre's features were tired, drawn in, and there was a new gauntness to her cheeks revealing that she was losing more than just sleep. The stresses of war were tangible beyond the commander's appearance though. Even through the holographic display, she could hear the weariness in the commander's voice, see the fatigue in her stance, yet when she spoke of the Reapers her countenance shifted and a familiar sight brought hope to Miranda's heart and reminded her of the depth of her loyalty, her friendship to the Spectre and from where those bonds sprung. It was the look in Shepard's eyes. Although the dirt and scars of many battles were plainly evident on the commander's tarnished armor, her eyes held the same fierce, cold as steel gaze, unflinching and unyielding, that she had seen before diving into the Omega 4 Relay. The commander led the Normandy straight through the gates of hell, but amazingly brought everyone back alive. Seeing that uncompromising look once again made her remember, made her believe. In that moment, she felt as though the Alliance and allied forces could conquer their enemies. And because of that look, she knew Shepard had a hand in ending this war. She didn't know it in her head; she knew it in her heart.

The former Cerberus officer silently chuckled to herself. Before hanging around with Shepard she would never have followed her heart, she would have followed her duty and the logical course of action, but that was the kind of influence the commander wielded. Not only did she sway people by her heroic actions, but by her character—her courage, candor, competence and commitment. Being in Shepard's presence, watching her work, becoming her friend, had changed Miranda, and for the better, she believed. Because of the example Shepard set, the high standard of excellence coupled with patient and persistent focus on group cohesion, her own leaderships skills had grown along with the confidence in her own abilities. Her friend had helped her overcome longstanding insecurities stemming from a childhood of admonishment and deprecation.

Miranda continued to make her way through the Alliance's main camp and headed toward their base of command—one of the only abandoned buildings left standing after the Reaper assault. Soldiers eyed her warily, her lack of military armor or insignias only some of the reasons for their interest. Another was her choice of uniform—a skintight black leather jumpsuit with gold tinting that hugged every inch of her body in boldly provocative ways. If not for the sweat and dirt smudges on her face along with the various cuts and bloodstains on her thighs and arms, she would have looked picture perfect. Somehow though, through all the chaos of the last few hours, her shoulder length, black hair had managed to stay pristine.

When she arrived at the command center's entrance, she was scanned for the second time since entering the compound. After the security officers allowed her through, she was greeted by a female soldier, a Lieutenant Commander whose haunted expression matched every other soldier she had seen. It was the look of someone who would forever be marked by all the suffering and death they had witnessed.

"Ms. Lawson," said the officer, curtly. "I'm Lieutenant Commander Weiss. Thank you for coming so promptly." Despite the filth of the area, the Alliance officer had managed to maintain some semblance of cleanliness. Her battle fatigues were buttoned, tucked and belted. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled back into a pony-tail. At first glance she looked as though she was in her early twenties, but her weary dark blue eyes belonged to a woman who was much older than that. If not in years, then in experience.

"When Alliance brass requests my aid, my curiosity can't help but be piqued." Prior to this war, the valuable intel that the ex-Cerberus officer had delivered to the Alliance was met with skepticism and caution, along with the sincerity of her motivations. Miranda understood their prudence and held no ill will, but the fact that they were now seeking her out specifically made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Something was amiss. "Why am I here?"

Stoically, Weiss answered, "I am not at liberty to say."

After little to no sleep in the last thirty-six hours and a four mile trek on foot across a wasteland of debris, Miranda was less than amused. She cocked her right hand on her hip and struck her characteristic pose of irritation. "Then who the bloody hell is?"

"Follow me." Without waiting for a reply, Weiss turned on her heel and headed toward the back of the building.

Miranda shook her head, but took a step forward and followed the blond-haired woman's path.

The corridor was dark, lit by faint globes that gave off a wan, blue radiance and as they moved further into the building their path sloped upward then curved left. From all of the broken rooms they passed, Miranda assumed this was once an office building. They continued to walk by security personnel who saluted the Lieutenant Commander, but scowled at the former Cerberus officer until finally they entered a large, unoccupied room. The centerpiece of the space was a holographic image of the city, which led Miranda to believe that they were standing in what currently passed for a war room. There were no windows, but the walls, floor and ceiling had all been reinforced with kinetic barriers.

Miranda walked over toward the table with the holographic display, taking note of troop layouts which were highlighted in blue, then turned toward Weiss. "Okay. I will ask you one more time. Why am I here?"

Just as the last words left her mouth, a tall figure stepped through the entrance of the room. "Because I asked."

As she turned her head toward the new arrival, Miranda frowned in disbelief. The participant was unexpected, shocking her momentarily, but she recovered her composure quickly. "Admiral Anderson." She recognized the man from her brief encounter almost three years ago when Shepard met him on the Citadel, soon after her resurrection. Of all the people she had thought to meet, she never suspected it would be with the leader of the Earth's ground resistance. The Alliance wasn't that trusting of those with ties to Cerberus, past or present.

"Ms. Lawson." The older man moved slowly and with a slight limp until he stood next to the table, directly across from her. "I'm sure this is a surprise."

Miranda looked the Anderson in the eyes and then answered, "To put it mildly."

He was outfitted in navy blue battle fatigues that looked out of place because they appeared brand new. She knew he had been with Shepard during the final assault, and when tied to the limping and fresh abrasions she noticed on his unprotected skin, she assumed he had seen battle and then for some reason changed clothes. Miranda remembered him as being robust and athletic with an imposing presence and while he still was able to command attention when he walked into the room, the exhaustion radiating from him was obvious. His facial features were drawn and haggard and fatigue plainly emanated from his dark brown eyes. Too many hours without sleep; too many questions running through the mind.

"I'll be honest," said Anderson, "I don't like your past involvement with Cerberus or your long history with the Illusive Man… but I know you've been helping the Alliance." The Admiral's scrutinizing gaze remained locked onto Miranda's, then his eyes narrowed. "And for some reason, Shepard trusts you."

"It was earned."

"That may be, but that's between you and Shepard."

"With all due respect, Sir, if you have concerns, then why did you ask for me?" Miranda had grown up around authoritarian figures, so giving respect to a man she knew earned it came without forethought.

"Because," said Anderson as he sighed heavily, "I need your help. We need to find Shepard."

"Sir," scoffed Miranda, "you need the Normandy for that, not me. They can track her down through her armor's biometric signature. Or homing beacon. Or any number of ways EDI can think up to track a unique signal pattern."

Anderson looked to his left and right, then frowned. "What about I'm about to tell you is classified and does not go beyond this room."

Miranda knew that was a statement, not a request. "Okay."

"We don't know what happened to the Normandy. We don't know a blasted thing about anything beyond our own system."

"What do you mean?"

"We've lost contact with everyone beyond the relay. Long range communications are down as well as the QEC. Initial reports suggest that the Sol Relay has… shutdown."

"Shutdown?" Miranda tilted her head thoughtfully. "That's… unsettling."

Anderson agreed. "Yes. It is. We need to know what happened before that red light stopped the Reapers, and to do that, we need to find Shepard."

That statement answered Miranda's unasked question- Shepard had been involved in the enemy's demise. "How can I help?"

Anderson tapped a few commands on the holographic control panel and a new map of London appeared. "I've got a wasteland to search through but not enough men or time to search it. You're her friend. You know her better than most. Hell, you put her back together piece by piece. If you don't know how to find her in that mess, no one will."

While analyzing the map, Miranda contemplated the various means she could employ to track down an individual and then she applied those methods to Shepard. "There may be a way. I'll need full access to your medical lab."

"Done. Whatever you need. Just find Shepard." Anderson's voice sounded tired, but relieved as well.

Miranda turned her gaze to the Admiral and asked a question that had plagued her mind since she saw the red hue span across the sky. "So… the Reapers have really been destroyed? The battle is over?"

Shrugging his shoulders noncommittally, Anderson replied, "We'll see."

"You don't sound convinced that they are gone."

"I was there when it happened. Saw them disintegrate before my eyes, but I have been in too many battles to be convinced the conflict is over after one victory. Miracle or not, we still have the aftermath to contend with. No one has been left untouched." The Admiral straightened his posture, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the holographic map. "The battle with the Reapers may be over, but now we have another battle to win. The battle for survival."

After nodding her head in silent agreement, Miranda asked, "Where can I being my work?"

Anderson continued to scrutinize the map, but raised his voice in order to address the woman who was still standing guard at the door. "Lieutenant Commander Weiss, take Ms. Lawson to the Delta med lab."

"Yes, Sir," said Weiss, the brisk tone of her voice sounding like a salute.

Turing his head toward the former Cerberus officer, Anderson said, "We're using it for medical storage rather than triage. You should find everything you need there. If there's something you don't have, you'll get it. Just let Weiss know."

"Thank you, Sir." Without further ado, Miranda headed toward the entrance in order to follow Weiss to the lab, but before passing through, she stopped and spun around to face the older man once again. "Sir, one more question. What makes you think Shepard survived?"

Anderson looked up from the map and met her probing gaze, as though measuring what to tell her. Finally, he said, "Because I did…"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

A wall of monitors illuminated the room in a somber blue hue, highlighting the contours of Liara's body as she sat at the end of her bed and stared passively at the floor. The thirty-three screens were uncharacteristically blank. No scrolling data feeds, no live video, no screenshots. The only sound emanated from the cooling fans on the high powered servers, which normally processed massive amounts of information per second. However, right now they were inert. There was no information flow to organize, the data feeds remained dark.

"_Missing in action."_

Liara T'Soni was not afraid of the dark. She knew darkness, and when defined fundamentally it simply was the absence of light. Since that was a naturally occurring phenomenon its presence did not instill fear. Rather, she was afraid of something more subtle, more subversive. She was afraid of the images seen in the dark—the way sensory perception could be manipulated by stray thoughts or personal fears. Instead of relying solely on what was revealed to the eyes, the mind—when left with a lack of sensory input—had the tendency to construct a complex prediction of its surroundings, trying to fill the void by drawing on previous experiences to build an accurate picture. In essence, the mind tried to fill in the gaps. Even in total darkness.

For Liara, being without information was like being engulfed in darkness. Those moments were rare, but always imbued her with a sense of frustration, a feeling of suffocation, and if she wasn't vigilant, could become a place where her fears and doubts gained free reign. A place where her perception of things could become clouded by hypotheticals and presumptions; a place where personal fears and judgments threatened to fill the gaps. It was an instinctual way to stay in control, an attempt to grasp the unexplainable.

"_Missing in action."_

When left to its own devices, the mind had an insidious way of playing tricks in the dark, especially when emotionally invested in an outcome. In this way, Liara knew her perception of a situation could become skewed by her personal misgivings or assumptions. She also knew that in this particular situation she wasn't in total darkness, she had some information, some data, so instead of squandering time allowing her mind to formulate dubious conclusions or ruminating on the lack of information, Liara forced herself to focus on the facts she did have.

Twelve hours ago the Normandy crash-landed on Pragia. Two hours ago, she helped restore the frigate's long range communications and contact with the Alliance fleet in the Sol system was reestablished. Ninety minutes ago, Major Kaidan Alenko was briefed by Admiral Hackett about the situation on Earth. Forty-five minutes ago, Kaidan informed a select group of crew members about the conditions in each allied system and also debriefed them on the last known location of Shepard. That final bit of information was supplied via video footage from an Alliance soldier's helmet-cam. The soldier had managed to fight her way to the Citadel beam before a volley of enemy fire took her down. Even though she didn't survive, her cam which had direct line of sight to the beam continued recording. No audio, only visual.

_The war torn streets of London—littered with wreckage and debris—were on fire as smoke ascended to the heavens like funeral pyres. In the background, the Alliance and its allied ships engaged Reapers in the air. Relentlessly, but largely ineffective. A beam of red light filled the camera's lens, then immediately the image became dark and blurry. Minutes passed before the dust settled and the autofocus zoomed back in on the shaft of white light emanating from the sky above. Then, Shepard appeared in the frame, hunched over, her right leg dragging slightly behind while walking toward the beam. A pistol hung loosely in her right hand. Although most of it appeared boiled off with pieces of it completely absent from her body, what remained of her maroon armor was easily identifiable. Her kuwashii visor was absent. Every inch of her—skin, armor, cloth—seemed coated in blood and grime. An open wound was clearly visible on her left side, and her pace toward the beam was grievously slow. Three husks emerged. She struggled to raise the pistol, firing blindly at first, then steadying on the targets. The husks fell to the ground and then a second later she stumbled to her knees. With painful difficulty, she stood back up and continued toward the beam. A moment later, her right shoulder jerked back, flesh and blood spraying into the air, shot by an obscured form. She immediately aimed and returned fire. A marauder fell to the ground. Her pace slowed momentarily, then seemed to gain strength just before entering the beam. A brilliant explosion of light immediately followed, then an image of white noise filled the screen. _

The time stamp on the video indicated it had been taken minutes before the red wave of energy stopped the Reapers.

"_Missing in action."_

Three words. Three words acting as a knife. Three words which stole her breath and made her heart ache. Three words that gave her hope when it could be a dangerous thing to feel.

Shepard's unofficial status was declared by the Alliance military shortly after their search of the area where the Citadel beam touched down had been completed. Because of the Commander's high profile identity a formal statement had to be issued regarding her whereabouts, but from what Liara had been told, the search for Shepard remained a primary concern for the Alliance. They were not going to stop looking for her. But in all of the correspondence since the briefing, there had been no mention of Admiral David Anderson. No mention of the rest of the resistance on Earth.

On the Normandy, Alliance communications had been given top priority, so Liara's network feeds remained offline. She had been able to send out a few intermittent messages, but responses from the various agents had been sparse at best. In time, the QEC would be back online along with the secondary communication systems which would free up resources and allow her to bring partial functionality back to her Shadow Broker network. Then the darkness would recede.

For now though, the data links were offline and she was left alone in the dark, hostage to her thoughts and feelings of remorse. She contemplated the datapad in her hands and bit back the wave of sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her. Displayed on the screen was Shepard's real birthday, not the false one she had used when applying to the Alliance military. The Commander had grown up in a dilapidated orphanage on Earth that had ties to a gang called the Tenth Street Reds. Because of this illicit connection, records from the organization were nonexistent, so the Spectre never knew the true date of her birth. Using her research skills and unique resources, Liara uncovered the date and had planned on surprising her with the information on the day of her true birthday.

As she continued to stare blindly at the datapad, regret filled her mind and longing filled her heart. She wished she hadn't waited. The reasons that seemed so important a week ago now seemed pointless and trivial. All day she had wanted to weep, not only with hurt, but with anger for all the choices of the past. She closed her eyes and thought of all the things she should have done, but never did. All of the things she should have told Shepard, but never said. Her mind felt blunted, like a scientist lost in a mathematical problem who returned to the same starting point over and over again, unable to make sense or struggle clear of the equation. She had known that it would come to this, if not when they first met, then when they reconnected back on Illium. She knew Shepard would jump back into the fray the moment the Reapers showed themselves again. She should never have yielded to the love and mischief in those pale green eyes.

Bittersweet memories, uninvited and irrepressible, assailed her thoughts like torrential winds ripping through the woodland leaving devastation and chaos along its path. She remembered their meeting on Therum, the first human Spectre dressed imposingly in dark red Mercenary X armor with an attitude that was equal parts charm and menace; she remembered Commander Shepard, a fierce and formidable warrior, showing compassion to her mother before her death; she remembered her lover lying naked amidst disheveled sheets with an exquisitely sweet expression upon her face as moonlight illuminated her sublime form, bathing her in a divine aura. Nowhere was safe from Shepard's presence because Liara carried memories of the human with her every moment of every day, wrapped within vague thoughts that streamed shapelessly through her mind like long sad wisps of smoke.

If only she had found the Crucible data earlier…

She pushed that thought away with bitter violence. She tried to tell herself that even had she not loved Shepard, even had she not given up all that time she could have spent studying the Protheans, the outcome would still have been the same. But the troublesome questions still persisted. Would she have been able to save her lover if she had spent all those months studying Prothean ruins instead of hunting down the Shadow Broker? Had she traded Shepard's life for the pursuit of vengeance? She did not know, and the hurt of that was almost as bad as suspecting she did.

Liara placed the datapad next to her on the bed and then let her head fall heavily into her hands. Her shoulders hurt with cramp; she hadn't slept in two nights and her body ached. Medigel and Dr. Chakwas' administrations had helped, but her left side and thigh were still sore from the wounds she had suffered before forcibly being evacuated from the battlefield. She hadn't wanted to go, hadn't wanted to leave Shepard, and after the Normandy lifted off the ground she wanted to scream to anyone who would listen. That was not how their journey was supposed to end. They were supposed to share difficulties, help bear each other's burdens, travel together through the perilous void and arrive safely on the other side. Remembering those last vivid moments, Liara's body shook with rage as bitterness flooded through her being like a rising tempestuous tide.

Suddenly, she felt oppressed by the indefiniteness of her longing and regret. As uncertainty and a sense of insurmountable loss bore down on her like an ominous shroud, a single drop of wetness fell from her eye, slipping silently down her cheek. She prayed to the Goddess that she could cope, she prayed to make the hurt go away, and then she prayed to have all of those beautiful moments back. The soft looks, the little kisses, the arms wrapped around her. When her eyes opened, she found herself shaking and cold. She closed her fists, one around the other, and pressed them against her lips, willing the rage and sorrow to pass, and when they did, there was nothing left.

Like an icy wave, a swift tragic impression passed through her, then opening her hands, she stared down at the blue flesh of her palms. Empty. Hollow. Forsaken. Her heart was barren, her soul numb, she had nothing else to give.

The chime of her door rang through room startling her out of her melancholic thoughts. She glanced at the security monitor and upon seeing who was outside the door, knowing they wouldn't leave without some sort of acknowledgement, she pressed a few keys on her omni-tool and unlocked the door. A few seconds later, a tall, bulky figure entered the room.

Liara greeted her guest, weariness evident in every facet of her appearance. "Hello, Garrus."

"Hey, Liara," said the turian. Hesitantly, he walked to the center of the room, then stopped and leaned back on the desk which was located along the wall of monitors. "How are you?" His tone was soft and soothing as though he was trying to comfort her with the sound of his voice.

"I'm fine," she replied quietly. With her right hand, she casually wiped the away the dampness from her cheek.

"You know, humans have an acronym for that." Garrus' mandibles shifted into a turian version of a smirk. "Fucked up. Insecure. Neurotic. Emotional."

Liara's lips curved into a hollow half-smile, a cheerless expression revealing the true sorrow beneath her stoic exterior. "That sounds about right. Maybe they're wiser than we give them credit for."

"Nah… they just like to abbreviate. Saves them from having to remember long, complicated strings of words." The turian shifted his gaze to the left and then to the right, admiring all of the tech the asari had in the room. After calculating how much power would be required to run all of the advanced equipment, he looked back toward the researcher. "Have you noticed that they also like their code words—Sword, Shield, Hammer. Not very imaginative, but they serve their purpose: motivating the masses."

Liara remained silent, her eyes still downcast on the floor. She knew Garrus was trying to cheer her up, but she was exhausted both physically and mentally and couldn't muster the energy to put on a proper façade of being at peace.

Tilting his head contemplatively, Garrus sighed. The turian knew if he was upset by Shepard's unofficial status, which he was, then Liara must have been overwrought with frustration and grief. He was dismayed when his home world, Palaven, had been invaded and he was unable to gather any intel on his family's whereabouts. Liara had been there for him then, offering to help, extending a comforting hand of friendship. Now it was his turn to do the same. "I recall a time when Shepard disappeared for six months without a word to any of us."

"Garrus," said Liara, almost reproachfully, "she was incarcerated on Earth. A full scale lockdown while she was on trial."

"Yeah, I heard something about that, but never fully believed it," said Garrus teasingly. "Hot meals, a comfy bed. Sounded more like a vacation than an incarceration. Did you notice she gained weight while she was there? If she had been tried by the turian military she would have lost weight… and maybe some fingers. I always thought having five was a bit excessive." Glancing back at the asari, he added, "No offence."

"I spoke to her while she was on Earth." Liara's voice was faint, like an afterthought, as though her mind was somewhere other than on the conversation.

"You did?" said Garrus in a surprised tone. "Vega said she had no visitors."

For the first time since he entered the room, Liara looked up and met the turian's gaze. "I didn't see her. Not directly. But we were able to talk a few times." Noticing the questioning look on Garrus' face, she continued her explanation. "Through the Broker network, I smuggled an experimental QEC to her. Small design. It interfaced with an omni-tool."

Garrus nodded his head; he was both impressed and curious. "Sounds handy. Got another one we can use?"

"I wish," said Liara. "After three uses, the components burned up. The salarians are still trying to stabilize the power cells."

"Salarians?" asked the turian, genuinely intrigued.

Liara smiled shyly, a characteristic rarely seen on the asari since taking over the reigns as the Shadow Broker. "I… borrowed it from them."

Garrus chuckled. "Of course you did."

Sighing heavily, Liara's gaze returned to the floor. Her mind felt dull and lethargic as an oppressive sadness blanketed her being. She missed Shepard. After a moment of silent brooding, she admitted, "It's hard not knowing where she is or what happened."

"Yeah," agreed the turian, "but that's just Shepard's style."

Liara tilted her head, her furrowed brows emulating the question in her mind. "What do you mean?"

"Remember that time Shepard disappeared for a whole day?" said Garrus. "It was right after Sovereign and Saren, the Normandy was dry docked at the Citadel for repairs. The media was everywhere, Alliance brass was sending messages every five minutes. Nobody could find her and requisition forms piled up faster than the death count on Omega. Everyone converged on Kaidan, but even he didn't know where she was. Then, the next day, she comes strolling into the Mess, a big smile on her face, like nothing happened."

"Ah… yes," said Liara, as she cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I believe I recall that incident."

"Yeah, I can just imagine how annoyed you…" Garrus stopped and cocked his head to the side, scrutinizing the asari as though seeing her for the first time. "Wait a minute. You weren't even there!"

"Ah, no," admitted Liara timidly, "I wasn't." That was as much of an answer as she was going to give until she saw the look on Garrus' face. He wanted more details and she knew he would be prepared to wait. As a sniper, he had infinite patience. Shrugging her shoulders, she conceded to his indirect request. "I was still in the suite on the Citadel. I thought it best if we returned to the Normandy separately. We were trying to keep our relationship a secret."

"Secret?" laughed the turian. "You were going to have to work a hell of a lot harder than that, T'Soni. We all knew what was going on."

Dumbfounded, Liara said, "You did?"

"Oh yeah. All the way down to Chief Adams in Engineering."

"Goddess, I had no idea we were that obvious."

"Only as obvious as a supernova," remarked Garrus playfully while making a dismissive gesture with his hand.

"Thanks for that," chuckled Liara softly. Her laughter revived her, as the turian had no doubt meant it to.

"There was another time Shepard went AWOL," continued Garrus. "It was right after helping out Miranda Lawson with a… personal issue. This was while you were working as in information broker on Illium. She disappeared for three days before returning to the Normandy with a smug expression but no answers."

"You don't say," said Liara nonchalantly, her eyes innocently scanning everything in the room except Garrus.

The turian crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Oh, but I do."

Garrus watched Liara's slightly odd behavior, at first thinking that she was uncomfortable because he was talking about Shepard during a time when they weren't a couple. But then, like a detective, he started putting the pieces together. Fact one—he had witnessed their reunion in Liara's office, a few months after the Commander's resurrection, and even though not together, he had seen with his own eyes that their powerful attraction for each other remained intact. Fact two—Shepard had helped Miranda on Illium. Fact three—Liara lived on Illium. Fact four—Shepard disappeared on Illium. Now the turian understood. "And I don't believe it! T'Soni strikes again! You're like a Shepard magnet. Once we get you to Earth, Shepard will come running!"

The blue hue of Liara's cheeks slowly turned a dark shade of purple. Trying to deflect the embarrassing conversation, Liara accused, "She disappeared under mysterious circumstances several times with you Garrus. I believe one of those times you acquired the title 'King of the Bottle-shooters'."

"True, but that's only an honorary title. Don't tell her this, but I know she pulled her shot. Next time, I'll tie her hands and win fair and square." The turian frowned. "That didn't come out right."

A smile brushed Liara's lips, then faded. "She certainly had a mischievous side."

"Yes, she _**does**_." Thinking of Shepard's clever wit and propensity for colorful exploits, Garrus shook his head and chuckled fondly. "This sounds like an adventure she'd rope one of us into."

As Liara turned her head toward the turian, sadness brimmed in her deep, blue eyes. "Yes. Only this time no one is with her; she's alone." She hadn't meant to sound so somber, but the weight and magnitude of the situation was creeping back into her awareness.

"We'll find her, Liara." Garrus crossed the room to stand next to the asari and placed his hand gently on her shoulder. "Shepard will be found."

"I know. I know… I just…" Liara sighed heavily, feeling her chest constrict, gripped by an intangible fear. "I can't lose her again, Garrus," she whispered.

"They have no hard evidence, no proof she is dead. _That's_ what we hold on to."

Liara regarded the turian with great consideration. "I thought turians were more prudent. Something about ruthless calculus."

"That math only works in direct rates of exchange, not with probability and percentages and a little bit of Shepard mixed in," explained the turian, a whimsical tone in his voice. "That's when 'The Shepard Principle' takes over and all logic is defied. If the Reapers had been smarter, they would have considered that before coming out of dark space."

"The Shepard Principle?" said Liara, one eyebrow raised skeptically.

"When a situation looks hopeless, Shepard will find a way to beat the odds," said Garrus matter-of-factly. "Sovereign, Saren, the Collectors, Leviathan and now the whole damn Reaper army… I think she cheats, but I'm okay with that."

Liara smiled, nodding almost imperceptibly. She couldn't deny that Shepard had a way of succeeding in the most unlikely situations and knowing that the Spectre's best friend, a pragmatic turian, had faith that she would be found was heartening. Like pins and needles in a numbed limb, the hurt of hope renewed with a sudden wash of agony, but she greedily welcomed the sensation because it meant that she was no longer alone and she was no longer in the dark.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**:

Apologies for the late posting, real life inserted itself into the creative process. GAH!

Thank you to those who are following this story and especially to those who have left reviews. Your feedback spirals within rising crests of inspiration and motivation.

* * *

Chapter 5

"The Alliance must be fucking desperate if they allowed _you_ in here."

Miranda turned sharply, giving a callous assessment to the individual who just waltzed into the medical lab. "_Jack_," she said sardonically, "nice to see you, too."

The mobile lab was a rectangular shaped one-room building sparsely furnished with three long tables housing various medical equipment, a work bench with electronic tools, and industrial shelving lining the walls that was being used for medical storage. The entrance was located on the longer north wall near the corner where it met the shorter east wall. A cot had also been arranged in the room along with a table with food—dry rations, energy bars and bottled water. The space was brightly lit by the recessed ceiling fixtures which added to the sterile atmosphere when combined with the plain slate grey walls. The lab wasn't extravagant, but the equipment was state-of-the-art, as promised.

"Bet that hurt to say," snorted the heavily tattooed woman who had grabbed a bottle of water and downed it as though she hadn't drank in days. When she finished, she tossed the empty container in the recycling bin near the food table.

"Not as much as you may think." Miranda stood next to a table lined along the south wall adjacent from the entrance. Although still clad in her slightly tattered black and gold jumpsuit, she had taken the time to clean up and tend to her injuries before commencing work on finding Shepard. Returning her attention to the console in front of her, she stated, "Your childish attempts to 'get under my skin' lost their bite long ago."

Strutting to the middle of the room, Jack leaned back on another table just behind the former Cerberus officer and then defiantly crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Bullshit."

"Save it for someone who cares." The stress of the last eight hours rang through Miranda's sharp, but fatigued voice. "I don't have time for you or this interruption."

"I'm here to help, Cheerleader, so take that pom-pom out of your ass and tell me what's going on?" Jack's lean body was covered head to toe with elaborate tattoos and scarring, remnants from her childhood as a Cerberus test subject, but instead of wearing next to nothing as she had a year ago; now she wore close to nothing. Low rise camouflage tan pants, a skintight white "shirt" resembling not much more than a bikini top and a short hemmed black leather coat lined with metal studs. The tight fitting fabric and exposed midriff left little for the imagination. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but the sides of her head remained shaved, a reminder of a time when she chose to shave it all off.

"Help?" Miranda turned her head slightly, catching the younger biotic's form in the corner of her eye. The extra clothing gave Jack's overall appearance a less severe look, but her eyes still held the spark of unbridled rage. "Who asked for your help?"

"Nobody asked me," Jack growled. "I heard Shepard was missing and I heard some ex-Cerberus princess was looking for her. Doesn't take a genius to put two and two together."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Obviously."

"I gave you that one."

"Just because it's free, I shouldn't take it?"

"I thought that genetically engineered brain of yours was smarter than that."

"Right now I'm focused on finding Shepard!" Miranda made a dismissive gesture with her right hand, then began punching commands into her omni-tool. Although she sympathized with Jack's brutal upbringing and the horrors she had to endure, the former Cerberus officer knew they would never be termed as friends. They were too alike in some ways, too different in others and their individual ties to Cerberus muddied the waters beyond redemption. Nonetheless, Miranda did appreciate the hard-won mutual respect that now existed between them, even if it was bound in hostility. "If you're just here to piss me off, then get the bloody hell out!"

"Relax," said Jack, the normal harshness of her tone uncharacteristically missing. "I'm here for Shepard, too."

A regal, yet soothing voice sounded out from the doorway. "As are we all."

A flash of annoyance rippled through Miranda who hated interruptions, but when she recognized the voice, the feeling dissipated immediately. "Samara?"

The asari Justicar entered the room walking over to a large window on the west wall showcasing the dilapidated state of London. "Hello, Miranda." Her intense blue eyes left the brunette and coolly glanced at the other woman in the room. "Jack."

Tilting her head in an informal greeting, the tattooed biotic said, "Well, if it isn't the Normandy's former super cop."

While Samara's reticent features added to the calm, dignified aura that she naturally projected, the worn, dull marring on her crimson red armor imbued a sense of weariness. Turning her full attention to Jack, she stated, "Your affiliation with the Systems Alliance seems to agree with you."

Jack grinned. "Free room and board, blowing Cerberus and the Reapers to hell. It's been fun."

"And your students, are they well?"

"Yeah, the little shits did good. They were mainly staged in support roles, reinforcing barriers, modding ammo, that kind of thing… but they got their fair share of ass kicking in. Then that red energy wave came through, dropped every one of those fuckers we were fighting." Turning to Miranda, Jack said, "So… what the hell happened?"

The former Cerberus officer shrugged her shoulders. "Nobody knows exactly."

"I bet Shepard does," Jack said wistfully. "She always could find the best fights."

After keying in a few more commands, Miranda turned around and addressed the other women in the room. "Which is why we need to find her."

Samara stood straighter, her hands clasped behind her back. "And how will this goal be accomplished?"

"I've created a tracking program to find her."

A tiny crease on the Justicar's forehead betrayed her puzzlement. "Wouldn't the Normandy be better equipped for such an undertaking?"

Miranda nodded in agreement. "It would if it was here, but it's not. So I'm working with what I've got."

"And what's that?" asked Jack, sarcastically. "A big fucking sign that says 'Shepard get your ass back here'?"

Ignoring the mocking commentary, the ex-Cerberus officer explained the key aspects of her tracking program. "I've used the unique density of Shepard's body, the magnetic resonance of her cybernetics, and the harmonics in her armor's biometric signature to pinpoint a specific signal. Right now the program is able to interface with an omni-tool." Sighing in frustration she added, "There are squads canvassing the city now."

"Shit! That could take days." No longer able to sit still, Jack began to pace through the center of the room.

"I know." With her right hand, Miranda rubbed the back of her neck in an attempt to knead out some of the tension that had built up over the last four hours. "I'm working on a way to adapt it to a comm. buoy."

The tattooed biotic spun around, both hands on her hips and asked accusingly, "How the hell is that going to help?"

"If we set them up along the perimeter of the city," explained Miranda, "then I'll be able to scan large triangulated sections one at a time. I'll be able sweep the whole area in a matter of minutes."

Before Jack could comment, Samara interjected. "How long will it take for you to make the necessary adjustments to the program?"

"Another twenty minutes… give or take."

"Then perhaps we should get started positioning the buoys." Taking long and graceful strides, Samara headed toward the entrance. "You can inform us when you are ready to begin the scans."

"Hold on a minute," said Miranda. "Let me load the program to your omni-tools. You can actively scan for Shepard while you're traveling through the city. You might get lucky." She stepped next to the other two women, activated her omni-tool and copied the program to theirs. "Signal me if you get any hits."

Just as the data transfer completed, another figure entered the room. A much bigger and bulkier figure. "Need help with the heavy lifting? Heh. Heh. Heh."

"Grunt," said Miranda, unsurprised by the new visitor who walked toward the group. She heard he was in the compound and asked Lieutenant-Commander Weiss to send for him. "I'm glad you made it." The statement's double meaning was intended.

Jack turned to the young krogan and looked him up and down. He hadn't changed much in the year since they worked together on the Normandy SR-2; he was still a seven foot tall, one-ton reptilian mass of muscle, hide and piercing blue eyes. Though she thought his hump might have gotten bigger since that time fighting the Collectors. "Damn! The tank bred baby MAKO made it through with only a few scratches." The affectionate tone of her voice took any sting out of her words.

Grunt gazed down at Jack narrowing his eyes as though contemplating how to squish the tattooed biotic. "You've always been small, but you taught me how to blow things up." He grinned broadly, his voice a low rumble. "Exploding the Collectors and now the Reapers into the Void was fun. Heh-ha-ha-ha!"

"Hell yeah!" encouraged Jack. "That's what I like to hear!"

Miranda turned back toward the computer console, hiding the tiny smile on her face. During the time they were solving the mystery of the disappearing human colonists, she thought Shepard was crazy to take these two raw—and at the time undisciplined—squad members into battle together, but it turned out that they played well off of each other. Grunt's pure unrestrained physical prowess and Jack's violent biotic power matched perfectly in their brutality when combined with Shepard's strategic guidance. Little could stand in their combined might's way. And there were remnants from the Collector base still floating around in space to prove it.

Offering her own formal greeting, Samara said, "I am glad to see that you are well, Grunt."

The krogan looked at the asari and then smashed his fists together. "Kept myself busy by crushing the Reaper army one husk at a time. That is, until Shepard took them out."

"Shepard?" Miranda looked up from her work. "Grunt? Do you know what happened?"

"Don't need to know. Shepard hunts Reapers and now the Reapers are dead. "

Samara tilted her head as an almost imperceptible smile curled on her lips. "A simple but nonetheless astute reasoning."

Grunt looked around the room. "Where's everyone else? No way Liara and Garrus would miss this."

Miranda walked over to the medical supplies on the shelves and began looking over the contents. "The Normandy is still in the Dakka System. They crash landed on Pragia."

"Fuck," said Jack, once again leaning back on the table and crossing her arms. "They're in that hell hole?" The Cerberus facility where she had been imprisoned and subject to years of inhuman physical and mental experiments had been located on Pragia. The jungle planet still existed, but with Shepard's help Jack had blown the facility to the four winds. She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, then repeated, "Fuck."

After finding the case she needed on the bottom shelf, Miranda said, "The damage must not have been too severe because the ship is back in the air and waiting for the all-clear to be given so they can use the relay." She could tell everyone was curious where she'd gotten her information so she added, "The Alliance officer who has been keeping a watchful eye on my progress has also been keeping me up to date on the Normandy."

Jack chuckled. "That's handy."

"I think she was hoping the Normandy would be back by now so she could escort me out of the complex."

"Shit. Someone should have warned her. Shepard's like your favorite pet project. No way you'd leave without finding her first."

Miranda raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "While not entirely accurate, the significance is the same. I'm not deserting Shepard."

"We all share the same sentiment," said Samara as she returned to her parade rest stance with both hands clasped behind her back.

"Fuck yeah," agreed Jack whole-heartedly. "Just try to get rid of me." She walked over to the food table, grabbed an energy bar, ripped open the wrapper and began to eat. "So, how long until the Normandy gets back to Earth?"

"Unknown," said Miranda, tapping in a few more commands into her omni-tool. She had always excelled at multi-tasking. "From what I've heard, they are sending a VI controlled ship through the Sol Relay to verify the relay system is intact."

"That's been done," said Grunt. "The Relays are working. Wrex is headed for Tuchanka now."

"I imagine there are a lot of people who are trying to get back to their home worlds." Samara's tone was soft and reverent. Thessia, the asari home world, the former "crown jewel of the galaxy" had been hit hard by the Reapers and news of its current state was as yet unknown.

"Probably a nightmare trying to coordinate all of those ships back and forth through the relays," said Miranda reflectively, voicing the thoughts streaming through her head.

"How long's Shepard been missing?" asked Jack.

The former Cerberus operative took a deep breath and refocused her attention on adapting the tracking program. "Sixteen hours. A video feed from a soldier's helmet cam showed the exact time of her disappearance just seconds before the red energy was initiated."

"Where are the buoys," asked Samara, getting right down to business.

"Lieutenant Commander Weiss left a crate of them just outside the lab's doors."

"Come on, Grunt," said Jack. "I'll race ya. Let's see who can put the most buoys up."

The krogan grinned and then excitedly smacked his hands together. "Point the way and I'll tear it up."

"Remember," said Miranda absently as the three walked out of the lab, "they have to be in one piece to work."

* * *

"…"

"_Miranda, the array around the city is now complete. We shall keep this comm-link open and await your instructions."_

"_Thanks, Samara."_

"…"

"…"

"_What the fuck? Why isn't anything happening?"_

"_Jack, I just finished loading the program to the last buoy. Give me a minute to run the scans."_

"…"

"_Your minute is up, Cheerleader. Damn. It's so dark out here I can barely see five feet in front of me."_

"_That won't matter. I'll be able to get you within ten meters of Shepard with this program."_

"…"

"…"

"_Okay, I've scanned a third of the city. Nothing yet."_

"_You sure this is going to find Shepard?"_

"_It damn well better, Grunt, because we are out of opt… Hold on. I've got something. One hundred meters north of your current position."_

"…"

"…"

"_Yes, keep going in that same direction. You're closing in on the signal."_

"…"

"_We will have to travel the rest of the way on foot. There is too much debris to navigate with a vehicle."_

"_Samara, there should be a medical kit in the rear compartment."_

"_Yes, I found it."_

"_And I got the damn flood lights."_

"_Reminds me of the Rachni caves. Dark. Can't see in front of you. Creepy crawlies jumping out at you."_

"_Shut it, Grunt!"_

"_Oh… Jack is scared of the dark. Heh. Heh. Heh."_

"_The hell I am! I just-"_

"_HEY! You two! Cut the chatter! Shepard's position should be ten meters to the east of you."_

"…"

"…"

"…"

"_Well… fuck."_

"_Goddess."_

"_This is not going to be as easy as the Rachni."_

"_What? What is it? What do you see? Do you see Shepard?"_

_"..."_

"_Miranda…"_

"_Samara! Do you see Shepard?"_

"_Yes, but the commander is going to be difficult to reach."_

"_Difficult to reach? What does that mean?"_

"_It means she has half a building on top of her, dumbass. If we move it, the whole damn thing is going to collapse. Grunt, where the fuck are you going?"_

"_To get Shepard!"_

"_Shit! Samara, I need your help!"_

"_What's going on out there? What's Grunt doing? Jack? Samara? Somebody answer me!"_

"…"

"_Grr….argh…"_

"_Jack, help Grunt brace the debris with a biotic field. I'll climb down and get Shepard."_

"…"

"_What's happening? What's going on with Shepard?"_

_"..."_

"_Argh…"_

"_Keep lifting it up, Grunt, I got your back… Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…"_

"_Jack, what happened? Samara, where's Shepard? What's going on? Answer me!"_

"_I am almost to her."_

"_Samara, fucking hurry up! She's fucking bleeding out."_

"_I. Am. Krogan!"_

"…"

"…"

"…"

"_What the hell is going on out there? Do you have Shepard? Samara? Jack? Grunt? Would somebody please answer me!"_

"…"

"…"

"_You're going to be okay, Shepard. I've got you. It's going to be okay."_

"…"

"_We've got her, Princess. Samara's got her."_

"_How's Shepard? Is she-"_

"_She's alive. But shit… she's in bad fucking shape."_

"_Bad shape? What does that mean? Samara?"_

"_She is unresponsive and I am__ unable to ascertain all of her injures, they are too numerous. However, I have encased her in a biotic field to maintain pressure on all of her wounds, this will slow down her bleeding until a medical unit arrives. It is not safe to move her. You will have to send someone to us."_

"_Lieutenant-Commander Weiss and a medical crew are already on their way."_

_"..."_

"_Stay with us, Shepard. Your time has not yet come. This is not a time for farewell." _

"_Goddamit, Grunt! You ever pull a stupid stunt like that again I'll-"_

"_Your deeds are not yet done, my friend."_

"_-hit you so hard with a shockwave that you'll bounce to the Void and back again!"_

"_Those who care for you are here, Shepard."_

"_Worked didn't it? Heh. Heh. Heh"_

"_That's not the fucking point!"_

"_The medical team will be there in less than two minutes. Keep her alive!"_

"_You are safe."_

"…"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Standing on a balcony that overlooked the harbor, Liara breathed in the cool, refreshing night air taking note of its salty and somewhat tangy scent. While her gaze drifted aimlessly across the slow rolling waves she exhaled heavily as though attempting to release the cares of the last few days, the last few tumultuous weeks, filtering them through her thickly armored resolve. Shepard was alive and for that she was grateful, but the Spectre was not, as humans would say, out of the woods yet.

_Eighteen hours earlier…_

"_Miranda."_

"_Liara."_

"_How is she?"_

"_She's seen better days, but she'll survive. She was lucky. The active cybernetics in her system saved her life."_

_Flooded with both concern and questions, the asari frowned. "What do you mean?"_

"_They found her under a pile of rubble, half a building on top of her to be exact. If her cybernetics hadn't maintained the blood flow to all her extremities there was a serious possibility that she would have experienced much more extensive damage than she has." Miranda paused momentarily as though collecting her thoughts. "Have you ever heard of reperfusion injury?"_

_The asari remained silent, instead shaking her head in response._

"_Reperfusion injury__ is the tissue damage caused when blood supply returns to the tissue after a period of ischemia or lack of oxygen." The ex-Cerberus officer smiled sardonically. "Say for example, when someone is being crushed by building debris. Happens most commonly with explosion or earthquake victims. The absence of oxygen and nutrients from blood during the ischemic period creates a condition in which the restoration of circulation results in inflammation and tissue damage rather than restoration of normal functions."_

"_But she's going to be okay?"_

"_Yes, I believe so. Her cybernetics prevented reperfusion from happening. In fact, the pressure from the debris was actually beneficial for some of her injuries, but when Grunt removed that pressure other wounds reopened and she lost a lot of blood. Samara acted quickly restoring the pressure by encasing her in a biotic field. Probably saved her life, too."_

_Even though it wasn't cold, Liara wrapped her arms around her torso. "What else?"_

"_The damage to her body was… extensive. Beyond the multiple contusions and lacerations, we've repaired eight rib fractures, a dislocated left shoulder, and a fractured femur in her left leg. Also, in her left forearm both the ulna and radius bone were broken. Her internal injuries consisted of a ruptured spleen and collapsed lung while first and second degree burns covered her torso."_

"_But her armor…"_

"_Did what it was designed to do… it protected her with shields, plating and self-repair. She was hit with a high energy weapon at some point, assumedly Harbinger's beam. The ceramic plating boiled away but not before buffering the majority of the blast. It also kept her spinal cord intact while the suit's self-healing system applied medi-gel to her wounds. She's bloody lucky."_

…

Liara sighed as her eyes scanned the picturesque scene before her—the obsidian heavens blanketed by thousands of white sparkling lights and the moonlight falling gently across the city of Wellington, the capitol of New Zealand and the location of the System Alliance Advanced Medical Institute. Located at the southern tip of New Zealand's North Island, the city was surrounded by hills and a rugged coastline with its suburbs spreading out in all directions. A wistful smile stretched across the asari's lips and she felt a heated pressure compress within her chest as a simple, silent prayer to the Goddess Athame hummed through her mind. She was grateful that so many stars still shined brightly above her. Things could have ended up so differently, Shepard could be dead and the Reapers still alive.

The Normandy had been in the Dakka system waiting for approval to use the relay when they received word that Commander Shepard had been found. The initial details given regarding her status were vague at best, but once the frigate returned to the Sol system with Earth as their final destination, more information followed. Liara assumed any data tied to Shepard would be classified and since she was part of the non-Alliance personnel her requests for information would have to filter down through the chain of command. That was not an efficient or acceptable option for the asari. But as she finished her computations to "listen in" on what would be a private communiqué between Major Alenko and Admiral Hackett, something surprising happened. She was asked to join them.

Liara knew Admiral Steven Hackett since the days of skirting through the galaxy on the Normandy SR-1 hunting Saren and Sovereign, but she had only met him personally on one occasion when he gave her Shepard's "recovered" dog tags while Cerberus' Lazarus Project still had the Spectre's body. After Shepard surrendered to the Alliance following the destruction the Alpha Relay, the asari became more familiar with the Admiral through direct communication with him as she searched the Mars archives for a Prothean weapon that everyone hoped could stop the Reapers. Throughout the various methods of their correspondence Liara's impression of the Admiral never shifted. He was an intelligent and honorable man, a natural leader, who valued those under his command. Although she and Shepard, because of their mutual desire for privacy, never made their relationship public knowledge, the Admiral, being a perceptive individual, recognized their romantic affiliation was something more than transitory and made sure Liara was apprised of all non-classified information regarding her lover. The asari shrewdly obtained the remaining classified information through the Shadow Broker network.

The meeting with the Major and the Admiral was informative, but not necessarily reassuring. Ultimately one set of worries and concerns was replaced by another. Shepard had been found but was in critical condition and had been rushed to the best medical facility still intact after the Reaper invasion. Somehow during the many months of Reaper occupation, New Zealand had been virtually untouched which was highly fortunate considering it was the location of the Alliance's principal medical research facility on Earth.

About twenty-four hours after the red wave of energy pulsed through the cosmos, the Normandy SR-2 found itself back in the Sol System. Roughly four hours later, the frigate was hovering above Earth waiting for docking orders as its shuttle flew a small crew down to Wellington. Commander Shepard remained in surgery for another three hours.

Afterwards, the individual overseeing Shepard's care, Miranda Lawson, spoke directly with Liara…

_Eighteen hours earlier…_

"…_brain swelling. Immediately on her arrival we had to medically induce a coma which helped alleviate the swelling and pressure on the brain."_

_Pensively, the asari asked, "Will there be any permanent damage?"_

"_It's too early to tell. We'll know more when Shepard wakes up."_

"_When will that happen?"_

"_That's unknown," said Miranda, the low raspy sound of her voice couldn't be mistaken for anything other than weariness. "We stopped administering the drugs, so now it's just a matter of them being weaned from her system."_

"_And her other injuries? Will there be permanent damage?" _

"_I don't expect there to be." Chuckling, the former Cerberus officer added, "She may ache just before it rains or if she gets cold though."_

_A halfhearted smiled touched Liara's lips, but it was not reflected in her cloudy blue eyes. "She complains of both already."_

"_Then I don't believe she'll have anything new to adjust to."_

"_Good," said the asari absently, as though her mind was on something else._

"_You should get some rest. At the earliest, it will take four hours for the drugs to leave her system."_

"_Miranda…" Liara hesitated, gathering her thoughts._

"_Yes?"_

"_Thank you."_

_The brunette nodded. "I owe Shepard a lot. I'm glad I am able to help."_

…

Shaking her head, Liara ended her reminiscence and returned her focus to the seascape before her. The soft rays of moonlight blanketing the quiet harbor were both charming and peaceful, but there was also a sourness that enveloped the surreal scene. After all the death and destruction she had witnessed on Palaven, on Thessia, and in London—to see this small untainted pocket of serene imagery was almost too much for the researcher to bear. Like the Presidium on the Citadel, the pristine view made it easy to get lost in the beauty and to want to forget the horrors that had occurred over the last few months.

Abruptly, Liara turned away from the balcony, blinking back the rush of wetness in her eyes, and headed into the medical facility towards Shepard's private recovery room. She didn't want to forget. They may fade in time, but those images were never going to escape her memory. The sacrifices bound in that devastation deserved to be remembered.

The corridors of the medical building were stark white, clinical and clean which served as a sharp contrast to the cozy ambiance of Shepard's room. Directly across from the entrance was a large window, friendly and inviting, which overlooked the harbor below. A tan faux-suede couch and a glass-top coffee table with a mahogany wood frame were located to the left of the window. To the right of the room's entrance was a private restroom complete with its own shower. Shepard's bed and the equipment monitoring her health and dispensing aid were on the far left wall of the room.

As if on cue, when she looked on the form of her lover lying in the hospital bed Liara's chest compressed and she found herself unable to breathe. The Spectre's normally light bronze skin was ashen and marred with angry looking dark blue and purple bruising under her left eye and across both cheek bones. She looked vulnerable and frail, two words the asari never thought to associate with the human woman. Words such as dynamic, potent, or even aggravating were more likely candidates, but while lying supine and very still with only a medical gown and light blanket covering her features, surrounded by equipment monitoring every one of her body's vital functions, her lover seemed fragile.

After an extended surgery which mended wounds and broken bones, the Spectre was moved to a secured Intensive Care Unit and placed in a private room. Over the course of many hours, the Spectre's bandages had been changed, all the tubes—minus the catheter and IV—had been removed and she had been given a sponge bath. But even with the bruising along her face and body receding and most of her injuries deceptively covered by gauze or cloth, the Spectre didn't look peaceful. She looked weak and defenseless.

When Liara walked over to the bed, a petite human female with short auburn hair who stood next to the monitoring equipment keying information into her datapad met the asari's gaze and slowly shook her head. No changes. The researcher tenderly captured the right hand of the woman who had yet to regain consciousness and leaned down to place a soft, deliberate kiss on each knuckle. Eighteen hours had passed since the medicine which induced coma had ceased, but the Spectre made no sign of being roused from her forced unconsciousness. Blood tests revealed that all the medication had been flushed from her system and the brain swelling which had triggered the treatment was no longer an issue. For some reason she was not waking up, but no one had a reason as to why.

Pinching the bridge of her nose with her right hand, Liara stifled a wave of irritation. Since the moment she arrived, a constant stream of medical personnel filtered in and out of the room administering some kind of aid or documenting the various states of recovery. The asari understood it and was grateful for it, but she wanted, needed, an uncensored moment alone with her lover.

Liara ran the fingers of her left hand gently across the Spectre's cheek, then acquiesced to the crowded reality of the moment and moved over to the couch. Once settled, she picked up one of the many datapads lying on the coffee table and took refuge in the only activity which had the unique ability to distract her—monitoring and issuing orders over the Shadow Broker network. By the time the Normandy returned to the Sol System, the network had regained full functionality and the researcher had set about to gather as much information on the status of the war, the state of the Reapers and help organize relief efforts. It hadn't taken long before she received the final word through her Broker spies and military contacts from one end of the quadrant to the other that the Reaper threat was truly over. The ancient machine race had failed its objective to harvest all sentient life.

The most difficult aspect of the researcher's efforts was collecting data on the casualties throughout the various systems and using triage mentality on a planetary scale when sending supplies and prioritizing which rescue operations to supplement with Broker resources. Graceful fingers flew across the datapad, issuing the commands formed from strict logical deductions as her emotional and empathetic responses were systematically compartmentalized. This was the only way she knew to get through the moment. It was the only technique that had gotten her through the thoughts of Thessia's fall, and later on of Shepard's demise. Instead of grieving about the tragic situations she was confronted with, Liara shifted all of her energy into finding ways to ease the adversity and misfortune of others.

As she sipped on a cup of hot herbal tea, Liara settled back into the couch, closing her eyes momentarily while exhaustion settled into every fiber of her being. She knew she was pushing herself too hard, but sleep had been an elusive companion over the last few days. Her dreams only brought chaotic images and feelings of anxiety while idle time brought too many nonproductive 'what if' thoughts. She had survived by indulging in brief respites on the couch—what Shepard called 'cat naps'—during lull moments and then walking outdoors for a dose of fresh air when the room became crowded with technical personnel running tests.

Squad mates, both past and present, filtered in and out of the room to check on Shepard's status and encouraged, sometimes forced, the asari to take much needed breaks. Garrus and Tali had been particularly adamant, only relenting after Liara had showered and eaten a hot meal, the first she'd had in days. Dr. Chakwas, who had the most practical experience treating Shepard over the years, took up residence in the facility and under the orders of Admiral David Anderson, was now working with Miranda, who was still considered the primary physician. The ex-Cerberus officer had been unusually thoughtful updating the asari directly as new information about her lover was confirmed.

…

Liara woke with a start, disoriented by her surroundings until she recognized the room and remembered what happened, she had drifted to sleep while reclining on the couch. Miraculously, the cup of tea still in her hand hadn't spilled while she was resting or when she woke suddenly. She placed the cup on the coffee table, then put her feet on the ground stretching her arms above her head and twisting her torso, working out the kinks left from her impromptu nap. As she looked around the room, she noticed something was different. She was alone in the room with Shepard.

Slowly she moved over to the bed pulling up a chair so she could sit on the right side of her lover and hold her hand. The fingers were limp and the palm cold.

While on the Normandy, Liara had drawn within, protectively desensitizing herself from the harshness of the reality and unknown quantities around her. She couldn't afford to give in to the grief and desolation because there were things that needed to be accomplished, objectives that had to be met. There was no time for a breakdown, it was a luxury that she could neither afford nor allow. Even now, on Earth, she felt herself cold, empty and overstretched; curiously separate from what she did while helping refugees in various corners of the galaxy.

But now, as Liara looked on the broken and battered form of her unconscious lover, the walls she had deliberately constructed began to crumble. The worry, dread and fear she had so carefully contained while devoting her energy to the issue of returning to Earth threatened to break through. She let out a shaky breath and slumped over, resting on the edge of the bed. For a moment her resolve cracked and one thought slipped through the self-imposed barrier—she could not conceive of what life would be like without those pale green eyes and impish grin shining back at her.

"Shepard," whispered Liara, realizing that her eyes were swelling with moisture, "the war is over. You can come home now. Come back to me."

Then the tears came, hot, heavy and this time uncontrollable. Her body shook with wracking sobs that she was utterly helpless to contain, her breaths coming in short uneven gaps as the unbridled anguish of the last few days was finally released in a furious torrent. The salty wetness flowed freely down her cheeks until all of her grief was spent leaving in its wake an exhaustion which felt eternally heavy. She didn't know how long she wept and she didn't care. All that mattered was that Shepard was alive, and in this moment, she was the center of Liara's universe. The researcher held onto her lover's hand, curling into it as drowsiness, hypnotic and dull, overtook her senses sinking her consciousness into the warm depths of a long awaited slumber.

…

Alone in the darkened room, nobody noticed a pale green wisp of energy coiling around the sleeping asari and her unconscious lover.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Heat rose off the concrete making Liara feel as though she stepped into a batarian sauna. The midday sun blazed down on her, but she could find no shady shelter in sight amongst the dirty, metropolitan city. Terracotta buildings were lined up in rows, segmented by busy, clutter filled streets. Even the dry, dusty air felt suffocating, teeming with the stench of too many people packed into too small a space.

She knew this place, she had visited it once before. Shepard had grown up here: Mexico City, Earth.

Liara weaved her way adeptly through the poverty ridden crowd. She was looking for someone, sensed that they were close and let the energetic pull guide her path. She turned down a hauntingly familiar alleyway, sizing up the street thugs as she went. They didn't notice or paid no attention to her passing as though she was a ghost drifting by. She stopped in front of a red, metallic door, discreetly surveyed her surroundings, and then entered the building. Silently, she made her way up the stairs leading to the loft. She had never seen it before, but somehow knew it had been given the nickname _Azure_. As she neared the top, the rancorous odor of death was detected. Slowly, she continued her deliberate, wary ascent as each footfall echoed ominously through the stairwell below.

Reaching the loft entryway, Liara noticed the front door was slightly ajar, as if baiting her to proceed. She hesitantly nudged the door open allowing for a full view of the eerily quiet apartment. The atmosphere was lifeless. No voices. No music. No vids. The stench of death and decay drifted thickly in the stagnant, hot air. The hum of the ancient refrigerator acted as a base line for the loft's tenebrous mood while dust particles reflecting off the bay window's sunbeam provided the only movement.

Liara crossed quickly into the apartment and started her apprehensive search. She knew that what called to her was here, somewhere in this space. She glanced over the sparsely equipped kitchen, and then continued her advance through the dining room. Seeing nothing out of place, she moved to resume her hunt, but halted abruptly at the sight in the living room. Six young humans lay strewn around the area in misshapen, ragdoll forms. The room had been painted with rounds from a submachine gun and the kids had been the nauseating canvas. Liara shifted her eyes to the floor, biting back her revulsion. She knew this vision was from the past, that these children had been dead for years, but the scene was still potent in its garish brutality.

In the periphery of her gaze she caught a glimpse of another figure in the room, the one who had pulled her here, staring silently at the carnage—Commander Lakota Shepard. She was dressed in casual clothes: well-worn blue denim pants, red tank top and black boots. Her strong, tanned arms hung loosely at her sides and her long, wavy black hair, normally pulled back into a ponytail, draped easily across her shoulders.

"Shepard," said Liara.

The human didn't move, didn't respond, she just continued to stare in front of her looking as blank as stone.

"_**Leave this place."**_

Liara spun around, bracing herself for an attack. The words echoed menacingly through the room, bringing a chill to her bones. She didn't recognize the voice. It was low, a deep baritone, with no discernible accent and no point of origin.

She stepped toward Lakota, grabbing her arm, spinning her around and for the first time, was able to get a good look at her lover's face—expressionless, with unfocused eyes that betrayed no awareness of Liara's existence. Then without warning, Lakota launched into a sprint toward the kitchen.

"Shepard wait!" she screamed, her hand stretching out to the retreating form. The explosion that followed carried her in to the warm embrace of blackness…

The darkness shifted into a smoky haze as Liara walked through a thick grey fog rising from the ground. Chillness from the mist sank through the fabric of her white and blue jumpsuit burrowing into her core and she longed for warmer clothes. She proceeded to make her way cautiously through the desolate compound taking note of the abandoned, single story buildings surrounding her. Darkness continued to settle in around her, but fortunately the light from ground fires reflected off the misty air offering enough illumination to see by.

Tension eerily crept up her spine, and her pace slowed as she strained to catch a glimpse of what might lie ahead in the smoky distance.

A man's screams jumped out from the darkness to the right. Another scream sliced through the haze from the left. Gunfire erupted and flashed in the dense fog emulating a grim orchestra's death call.

She knew this place, too. Akuze. Thresher maws had attacked this human colony slaughtering the settlers and all but one member of a Marine unit sent there to investigate—Lakota Shepard.

Without a doubt, Liara knew this was a dream, but not her dream and not just any dream, this one was full of demons and dark regrets. She knew this to be true because she had been given the details of these images by her lover after becoming the new Shadow Broker, when they had firmly reestablished their romance.

This was Shepard's recurring nightmare.

The bitter weight of that knowledge fell heavily on Liara. Feeling the pull to her lover once again, she shrank down into the shadows, and quietly made her way to the outskirts of the colony. Screams echoed disjointedly throughout the dead settlement. Then the ground beneath her shook as a thresher maw broke through the surface, forty meters to her right, shrieking into the smoky, night sky. Liara dropped behind a row of cargo crates and hid from the beast's line of sight. Thresher maws could sense prey regardless of the environment they lurked. Lakota had once told her that they had some type of sonar sense which allowed them to track prey and tunnel through the ground, so she remained frozen in place until the quakes tapered off.

The pungency of charred flesh from thresher maw acid sifted thickly in the air making the asari gag. Moving methodically, Liara stole some packing cloth from the cargo box, and wrapped it around her face to shield her nose, throat and lungs from the acidic, stingy atmosphere. Her watering eyes would have to take care of themselves.

The sporadic screaming had turned into low moans littered throughout the area. Liara, following the pull that guided her, headed in the direction of the main community building; the best place to gather and fortify defenses. Her skills at infiltration were mediocre at best, but she made use of every trick that Lakota had taught her to keep her pace quick, quiet and unseen.

As expected, she came across them: Lakota's old platoon. They were strewn about like garbage over the center commons ground. Massacred. Bodies broken by thresher tentacles. Flesh and bone eaten away by acid. Lakota stood in the middle of the compound, dressed in armor, her old squad surrounding her in their open-air, unmarked graves. Her head turned back and forth as though scanning the area, but her face had the same empty expression as before.

Acid stung the researcher's eyes as she walked hesitantly over to Lakota.

"Shepard," said Liara, her hand reaching out to touch her lover's arm.

Lakota made no indication that she heard the asari's voice or felt her hand. Instead, she continued to stare blankly at a soldier lying on the ground. He would have had dark skin and been tall and muscular, even for a human, but now his body was battered and broken by tentacles, his flesh and bone eroded away by acid—a macabre remnant of what he use to be.

"_**Leave this place."**_

It was the same low-pitched, menacing voice, shapeless with the ability to penetrate the very air around her. Liara could feel its presence trying to burrow into her mind, influence her thoughts, like a thousand centipedes crawling across her skin. She stepped in front of Lakota, her body trembling involuntarily, and gazed into pale green eyes trying to find some semblance of recognition in their depths.

"Shepard," she repeated, her voice sounding more insistent. "It's me. It's Liara. I need you to wake up."

On Thessia, all asari were trained from an early age to meld with another for the sole purpose of sharing thoughts, without reproduction. By consciously attuning her nervous system to her partner's, an asari had the ability to send and receive electrical impulses directly through the skin and share images and memories. As teachers, Matriarchs guided Maidens through their first lessons thereby insuring the techniques were taught properly and the experience was rewarding. Those early lessons made it clear to Liara that this was a shared encounter and that she was on the receiving end of the images.

A sense of danger from an unknown source, something beyond the voice, propelled her urgency as she pressed her lover again. "Shepard! You need to wake up!"

Suddenly, a thresher maw erupted from the ground behind the asari and she was thrown sideways down a hill. Tumbling and rolling further into a black abyss…

Liara rose in a lush, tropical paradise. The noon sun scorched from above while a complementary, cooling breeze carried with it the fresh, salty air. She removed the cloth covering her face, discarding it haphazardly on the ground, and then walked along the sandy beach to the ocean's edge. Two defense towers jutted up in the skyline.

The scene was unmistakable. Virmire. The planet where Shepard set off a nuclear device annihilating Saren's cloned krogan army and consequently killed a member of her squad: Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams. Dismayed, Liara took a deep breath and steeled herself to what she might find, but before she could turn around she heard someone speak out behind her.

"Commander?"

She recognized the voice immediately, and desperately fought the urge to look backward. Squeezing her eyes tightly, Liara took a deep breath and quickly swung around. When she opened her eyes, she was startled by the sight and stumbled back a step.

In front of her stood two figures, Lakota Shepard and Ashley Williams or what was left of the gunnery chief after a nuclear device had been detonated. The dead woman's flesh hung loosely from burned and blackened bones that were revealed through the holes in her armor. The complete left side of her face was peeled away so only skeletal frame showed while patches of skin and hair clung limply to her scalp. The only intact features in the ghoulish visage were her luminous dark brown eyes. They were definitely Ashley's eyes.

Even with a dead woman in front of her, Lakota's face still held the same blank expression and her eyes had the same eerily vacant look.

"_**Deceiver! Leave this place."**_

Before Liara could say anything, a mushroom cloud ignited the sky behind Ashley, and Lakota ran. Surprised by the swift movement, Liara took off after her. She ran past the beach, through the trees and into the forest where the heat and darkness engulfed her. Lakota was still in sight as the asari's foot caught on a root outcropping and she landed roughly in a thick bed of tall grass…

Liara lifted her head looking around at the misshapen, alien forms of bulkheads and space ship structure. The floor and walls were covered in a flesh-like film producing both heat and a nauseating, rotting smell.

She knew this place from Shepard's description. The Collector ship.

She lifted herself off the alien floor and rapidly assessed the surrounding, hostile environment. Still garbed in her blue and white body armor, she took immediate cover behind a low barricade and scanned the area for Shepard.

The invisible pull drew her in like a siren's call toward the center of the ship. Without any other thought than to get to her lover, she hurdled over the barricade quickly making her way down the narrow, lowly illuminated corridor. Leaping by terminals that controlled hatches within the thermal tunnels, Liara absently noticed they were all activated. From Shepard's stories, she knew Tali'zorah had traveled through those tunnels, bypassing the defenses and doors, in order to open the central gates. The hatches had needed to be opened, so Tali would not burn from the thermal buildup.

Turning back down the passageway, she navigated over more barricades and furthered her way through the ship's compound following the energetic link like breadcrumbs on an unfamiliar path. She stopped just before the entrance to a main chamber at the end of the corridor. Cautiously, she settled into a low crouch and peered into the room. She identified multiple open containment chambers that once held members of the Normandy's crew. They had been rescued, the space was empty.

Liara rose up diving headlong through the room, and then down a passageway leading to a secondary chamber. She made her way through the ship, continuing to negotiate her way over barricades and down corridors, until she entered upon a large open area. She stayed low, under cover, looking for signs of movement. Looking for signs of Shepard.

The collector ship rumbled and swayed. The sounds of tearing metal pierced the air as chunks of the ship showered down all around Liara. She took off running up the ramp in the direction where she knew the Normandy shuttle would be waiting and hopefully her lover, too. Sprinting up the incline, the alien ship continued to fall apart around her. An eerie sensation traveled down her spine as she somehow sensed the presence of another—something other—nearby. Looking ahead she saw the shuttle come into view thirty yards down the platform, but Shepard was still unaccounted for. Dodging the falling debris, the asari rolled to her left and started up the tottering ramp.

"Shepard!" screamed a shockingly familiar voice, piercing the air from behind.

In one smooth movement, Liara stopped sharply, spun around and stared dumbfounded at the unsettling sight down the ramp. She saw a copy of herself being held down by a Collector, one who she assumed to be the Collector General, Harbinger.

Then Liara became aware of a presence next to her and quickly turned to meet the newcomer.

"Shepard!" she cried in relief, stepping close to her lover.

The Spectre's face was still empty and hollow, vacant of any reaction or response to the chaos raining down around her.

"_**Leave this place."**_

The disembodied voice, dark and threatening, sent shivers through Liara's body, but she bravely pushed the foreboding sensation away, willing herself to focus on the woman in front of her.

"You need to wake up!" cried Liara as both of her hands grabbed her lover's shoulders, spinning her around so they were face to face. "Please! Shepard! Wake up!" Fear resonated within her voice.

Suddenly, Lakota broke from Liara grasp and raced back down the ramp towards her lookalike who had been thrown from the Collector General when the platform pitched sharply to the right. The human was able to maintain her balance as the platform shifted to the left and the ship's debris continued to rain down around her. She reached out her hand to grab the lookalike, but before contact could be made a metal fragment slammed into Lakota's chest, sending her toward the rim of the unstable platform.

Liara had followed closely behind her lover and when she was sent flying toward the edge, the asari tried to extend a biotic field but found her abilities didn't work. Without forethought, the researcher launched herself in the same direction as her lover effectively colliding with the human and sending her careening back toward the center of the platform. Liara wasn't so lucky and as her body slipped over the ledge, her hands desperately clawed at the floor finding a small ridge for her fingers to snare, her feet dangling into empty space.

"Shepard!" she shrieked. "Help me!"

Rising to her feet, Lakota stared at the asari with pale green eyes that were devoid of any feeling or thought or reaction.

"Shepard, please! Wake up!" Feeling her grip begin to slip, Liara cried out again hoping to break through whatever walls ensconced her lover. "Help me! Don't let me go!"

Lakota, making no move to assist, continued to watch with the same uninterested expression as Liara struggled futilely to maintain her grip. With each passing second the asari's hold weakened until she finally slid further over the edge.

"Shepard, please!" Unbidden tears fell from Liara's eyes as she watched her lover's vapid gaze take in her crisis. "Please don't leave me!"

The platform suddenly tilted to the left, forcibly shifting Liara's weight and jarring her left hand from its grip, leaving only the fingers of her right hand as her lifeline. Although appearing listless, Lakota's body had leaned into the ground's movement and remained standing in the same spot, unperturbed by the fragments of ship that continued to fall.

"No! Don't you dare leave me! Not again!" Liara demanded hotly, her fingertip grip weakening with each sway of the platform. "Shepard!" she screamed, pouring all of her strength into one last effort to meet her lover's empty, detached gaze. "Wake up! Come back to me!"

Just as the words escaped her mouth a piece of metal debris hammered solidly into the platform, forcing Liara to lose her grip. Her body slipped the rest of the way off the platform.

Unable to breathe, lungs fiercely burning, Liara free fell into the abysmal darkness below…

…

Twisting sharply, Liara grunted and savagely shoved herself away from solid metal, ultimately falling awkwardly onto a cold, hard surface. Instinctively, she rolled into a defensive crouch, left arm protectively in front, biotic energy coursing over her right, ready to be released. Lungs on fire, struggling for air, her eyes blinked rapidly as she attempted to gain a bearing on her surroundings.

Shepard's private recovery room.

Bluish tendrils of energy dissipated from the asari's right arm as she lowered her defenses and then fell heavily to her knees. The room's artificial light illuminated the myriad of emotions shifting across her face: dizzy confusion, bleak dread, and eventually, heavy-hearted discernment.

As Liara wrestled with the succession of jumbled imagery rapidly replaying in her mind, struggling with the sense of loss they produced, she attempted to sort through the chaos and decipher what actually happened. Somehow she had been in Shepard's dream. Somehow, while she slept, a connection had been forged with her lover's unconscious mind and she became a part in her lover's recurring nightmare.

Disoriented and uncertain, the researcher stood slowly, then shuffled forward moving the chair she'd been sitting on to the right so she could stand next to the bed.

Tension instantly drained from her body as she contemplated Shepard's immobile resting form. Deep blue eyes, brooding and turbulent, scanned her lover's peaceful visage taking note of her classical beauty. Symmetrical features mixed with dark hair. Smooth, naturally bronze colored skin with a clear complexion—excepting the current bruising that marred it. High cheek bones, solid, slightly arched eyebrows, a strong jaw and large, expressive, luminous green eyes—when open.

Smiling softly, Liara reassured herself that her lover hadn't been adversely affected by what had transpired, but then just as suddenly, those thoughts were replaced by another anxiety. _How_ had the connection between them been established? She was sleeping, her lover unconscious. Could her innate ability to meld have been stimulated while not fully cognizant or in control of her actions? This thought troubled the researcher greatly. She had never heard of such a spontaneous act between asari partners, let alone between an asari and another species.

She looked down at her hands which were cradling her lover's right and wondered what had occurred and why. Sighing heavily, she pulled the chair back to the side of the bed and once again settled into a seated vigil. Given time, she knew she would unravel the mystery, but right now her main concern was for the woman who was lying in the hospital bed, so she pushed the troubling thoughts to the farthest recesses of her mind and locked them away for another time. Tightening her grip, she brought the back of her lover's hand to her lips, placing a reverent, lingering kiss on the soft skin. Even after the gentle caress ended, she kept the hand pressed against her lips surprised by the warmth it now imbued.

"Shepard," she whispered, blue eyes brimming with moisture, "come back to me."

A moment later, as if having heard the heartfelt request, her lover's chest rose taking in a breath deeper than one associated with slumber. When she exhaled, much like a prayer being answered, her fingers lightly flexed around Liara's hand.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

A warm lethargy spread throughout her body giving the impression of floating within a sea of calm waters. Nothing specific was of interest, just the oddly indifferent sensation of untethered buoyancy, feeling somewhat disconnected and adrift without purpose, without want. The overall sensation was tranquil and soothing and somehow perceived as an unexpected balm, yet an oppressive sluggishness lingered within its depths as well. It anchored her form to a state of dual existence, she was within a limbo between the planes of then and now.

The moments within this solitary void were timeless. They had no meaning beyond the intended hollowness and quiescent placidity that nothingness by its very nature engendered. In this sanctuary of blissful oblivion, she had the vague impression of being contently detached. Here, she was safe. Here, she was at peace. She had no desires or needs. There was no fear or despair, just existence for the sake of existing. A blessed emptiness from the unending onslaught of influences swirling precariously on the other side.

In the tranquil repose of infinity, responsibilities and regrets were naught.

_"Wake up! Come back to me!"_

The sharp, jarring words, echoing from a faraway place, pierced the veil of the drowsy, nebulous abyss in which her independent solace and refuge were defined. Fractured words which made no sense but sounded out in a plaintive, beckoning tone that was unmistakable, emanating from a familiar voice that was undeniable.

The listless depths of infinity were no longer a solitary haven.

"_Shepard, come back to me."_

The need woven within the summons was heartfelt and any initial resistance was discarded in lieu of an instinctual pull towards the lyrical melody imbedded within the words. The message, distorted and senseless, was inconsequential, but the one who called to her was somehow essential. She had no defense against the voice as she followed the resonate wisps of its enticing song through the murky expanse allowing instinct to lead the way.

As her consciousness slowly rose to the surface, she became aware of an unnatural heaviness and a tinge of discomfort settling around and within her. She briefly remembered the sensation of a restrictive weight pressing down on her chest, the acute pain radiating throughout her entire body, and wondered if the absence of those sensations was the true anomaly. Where was the ache, the burning and the inability to breathe? They had disappeared and she noted somewhat apathetically that they had been replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion that left a thickness flooding her senses all of which felt dull and muted.

Eyes opened to a blinding white haze as a sharp agony like the swift sting of a razor blade sliced through her head, then they quickly closed allowing for the throbbing pain to be dampened. Her respiration and pulse had quickened under the unexpected onslaught, but began receding as the discomfort slowly faded with the returning darkness leaving behind shards of an ache that drummed endlessly through her head enveloping all other sound. She knew she was lying down on a firm, but cushioned surface with something constrictive draped across her body. Harsh chemical smells permeated her nose and a buzzing sound filled her ears. She was hot, but a shiver passed through her body, which seemed unfamiliar and fragmented like a discarded afterthought that had been forgotten while pursuing an objective. All her appendages felt heavy as though lead weights were attached while her head, still aching, felt as though it was stuffed with cotton, her thoughts random and slow.

"_Shepard?" _

There was the mottled voice again, intimate and comforting, coaxing in a way which left no room for refusal, laying seed to an irresistible compulsion that was essential to fulfill. She had to see who or what called her from the abyss.

Eyes opened again this time prepared for the agonizing brightness that followed. Blinking rapidly, the harsh illumination eventually dissipated leaving shadowy figures and shapes with fuzzy outlines that moved of their own accord. As each minute passed, the throbbing in her head lessened and the images became clearer until she was able to make out one familiar, reassuring form sitting near.

"Liara."

At least that's what Lakota tried to say. What actually came out of her mouth was a noise that didn't sound human, but was enough for the asari to smile, an incredible joy lighting her face.

"Shhh... Don't try to talk," Liara whispered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Miranda and Dr. Chakwas are on their way."

Lakota was grateful the asari didn't require her to say anything, keeping her eyes open was difficult enough, so she closed them and then infinity coiled its tendrils around her once more, returning her to its warm, soothing embrace.

When she opened her eyes again the room was darker and Liara was still sitting beside the bed. The heaviness continued to spread throughout her limbs, but Lakota strained against it, lifting her right arm toward the asari who bent over without a word and placed a tender kiss on her lips. The Spectre's arm wrapped around her lover's shoulders holding her as tight as she was able, which wasn't very much. She smelled the researcher's light floral perfume, the clean fragrance of soap and the unmistakable scent that was intrinsically the asari's alone. Lakota felt shaky inside, but the air going into her lungs seemed fresh and plentiful and after a while the shakiness eased to a slight tremble and then finally settled. Within her lover's embrace, she knew she was alive.

They stayed in that position for a long time, Liara's hand resting gently on Lakota's cheek, their foreheads touching, the Spectre's arm weakly draped around her. Then Liara sat up slowly, carefully taking the Spectre's arm and putting in back down on the top of the sheet with both of her hands holding it tightly.

Lakota smiled faintly, the corners of her lips barely moving, and said, "Surprise." Her voice was low and the usual playful lilt was replaced with a dry, husky sound as she maintained her hold on consciousness.

The asari rolled her eyes in amusement while patting her lover's hand quietly. She didn't trust herself to speak yet, so she reached over to the table next to the bed, lifted the lid off of a cup and retrieved a sliver of ice which she placed on the Spectre's lips.

The cool sensation was both refreshing and soothing to Lakota's raw, scratchy throat. As she raised her eyebrows, she glanced over at the cup, a silent request for more which the asari willingly fulfilled.

"How am I?" asked the Spectre after savoring a few more frozen pieces, the melted liquid having an immediate effect on her voice. All of her limbs felt tired and numb while the space around her seemed to shimmer in and out of focus making her feel disoriented. She reined her thoughts to this moment and none other. Somehow she knew if she let her mind wander to how she got here, wherever here was, that she would become lost in a maze of incongruent imagery and chaotic memories.

"You're going to live."

"That's a relief."

Smiling softly, Liara said, "For us both."

Lakota's hand squeezed her lover's in silent affirmation and when she looked up, her gaze fell into loving eyes as blue as the darkest sapphire and half veiled with joyful tears.

"So… where are we?"

"We're at the System Alliance Advanced Medical Institute in Wellington, New Zealand. You were flown here from London."

A horde of questions swarmed through her mind regarding what happened, how she was found, the state of things now, but Lakota set those aside on focused on concerns that were just as important yet seemed simpler to deal with. "I can't really feel anything. How bad am I?"

Liara informed the Spectre that she was on a full spectrum of antibiotics and heavy pain medicine which were the cause of her dulled senses. Then, she listed off the numerous injuries that the Spectre had sustained and briefly recited the details of the surgery, the induced coma and Miranda's short and long-term prognosis for recovery, which were promising.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed, Lakota whispered, "So how long have I been here?"

"Almost five days. You've been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last two."

The Spectre's green eyes locked onto blue, searching their depths for answers to questions she hadn't yet asked. "What about you? How are you?"

Smiling shyly, the researcher replied, "I'm much better now." From the admonishing look directed at her, Liara knew she was expected to be more forthcoming. "The injuries I sustained were tended to on the Normandy and there is no lasting damage. I am fine, Shepard. Truly."

Lakota nodded slowly, breathing out a sigh of relief.

"How do you feel?" Liara asked after a few moments of thoughtful contemplation, relishing the sight of her awake and responsive lover and thanking the Goddess for the opportunity to do so.

"Like I went ten rounds with a thresher maw, was run over by a Mako and then had a building dumped on my head."

"That's pretty close to what actually happened," teased the researcher.

"Really?"

"Honestly, nobody's sure what really happened." Raising a questioning eyebrow, Liara asked, "Do you not remember?"

With a forced effort, Lakota tried to think back, but her thoughts and the images produced were elusive. As her mind grazed over one of the stronger sensations, her body shuddered involuntarily.

Noticing the Spectre's physical reaction, Liara leaned forward placing a comforting kiss on her forehead. "Let it go for now, Shepard. There's no hurry. You've still got a lot of drugs in you, which will affect your ability to remember."

Nodding her head, Lakota murmured, "Okay." In truth, she was more than happy to avoid the dark thoughts skirting on edge of her awareness. She looked back up at the asari. "The Reapers?"

"Gone. Defeated."

"Gone? Defeated?" repeated the Spectre incredulously, as though she was unable to comprehend what the asari had said. "How? I want to know what happened to you, the squad, everything that's occurred since the Normandy left Earth."

As her hand cupped her lover's cheek, her thumb tenderly stroking the smooth, pliant skin, the researcher smiled reverently. She could see the woman lying in bed was struggling against her body's desire to sleep. "You will. I promise. But not right now, you need to rest."

Lakota knew the asari was correct. Every moment their conversation continued the heaviness of her eyelids increased exponentially. "Yeah, you're right. I am tired."

"Then close your eyes and sleep," said Liara. "I'll be here when you wake."

Lakota did as she was told allowing her consciousness to easily slip back into the peaceful slumber of nothingness.

When she awoke, it was bright again and although her head pounded relentlessly, she was able to shove the discomfort to the back of her mind by focusing on the scene before her.

Garrus and Tali were talking to Liara near the foot of the bed, but their voices were low enough that Lakota couldn't hear the conversation. Assumedly they were keeping their volume down as to not disturb her sleep, but since she was awake she had no qualms about interrupting them.

"Hi, guys," she croaked, then coughed lightly in attempt to clear the scratchiness from her throat.

Immediately Liara glided over to the right side of the bed, picked up the glass of water that was on the night stand and brought it to her lover's lips. A straw made it easier for the Spectre to suck in the much needed liquid which smoothed out the dryness in her mouth and throat. She flashed the asari a grateful look and was rewarded with unabashed affection shining in clear eyes.

Garrus smiled. "Shepard, it's good to see you awake instead of sprawled out on that bed in some misguided cry for attention."

After elbowing the turian, Tali took a step forward her hands resting at the end of the bed. "Ignore him, he's just jealous because you got a private room and he had to share one with Vega and Cortez."

"Traitor," sassed Garrus playfully.

Lakota breathed a little easier upon hearing the names of her squad being used in the present tense as she attempted to shift to a more comfortable position. Her body still felt sluggish, but Liara quickly recognized her lover's struggle and produced a remote which controlled the various angles of the bed and the firmness of the mattress. Once she had manipulated herself into a seated position she murmured to no one in particular, "That's better."

The sophisticated enviro-suit that Tali wore, which protected her from disease and infection, included a mask that hid all of her facial features making it difficult for most people to gauge her moods. Over the years though, Lakota had become adept at reading the quarian's body language and attributing the subtle shifts to various emotional expressions. So the moment when Tali's hands began to fidget and her head tilted slightly to the side, the Spectre knew the engineer was hesitant and concerned. "How are you doing, Shepard?"

"Apparently, I'm alive."

"Yeah, and you look like hell," noted Garrus honestly, but then he had the wisdom to look chagrined when the quarian leveled her gaze at him. Even through her mask, he knew she was non-verbally chastising him.

Flashing him a sardonic look, Lakota said, "You know, Garrus, humans have a saying; you shouldn't criticize someone until you've walked a mile in their shoes."

The turian shook his head. "A human's shoes wouldn't even fit me, so why would I walk a mile in them?"

Her eyes twinkling in amusement, the Spectre said, "So when you do criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes."

"I'll tuck that information away for another day."

Lakota smiled, the familiar banter with her good friend easing her worries better than any drug. Unsure of how long her body would maintain its wakeful state, she followed her instincts that had served her so well in the past and asked the question that hovered in her mind. "Speaking of information, what happened after the Normandy left Earth?"

The three standing around the bed looked at each other apprehensively as though having a silent debate on who should lead the conversation and what that would entail. As it turned out, Garrus began the conversation relating the Normandy's emergency EVAC which picked up Kaidan and Liara on the battlefield in London, their harried journey through the battle raging in the cold reaches of space above the Earth and their plunge into the Sol Relay to escape the all-encompassing red wave of energy. Tali spoke of Joker and EDI's combined skills and ingenuity, as they dodged between ships and debris while being fired upon. The two of them individually were impressive, but together their abilities and expertise enhanced the other's lifting them both to a level that they couldn't achieve on their own. The pilot and ship had acted like a merged consciousness, as they anticipated each other's actions, innately navigating the way to safety.

Garrus crossed his arms in front of his chest. "It's a damn good thing EDI was able to shake off that attack on her system."

"What attack?" said Lakota, the confusion evident in both her voice and expression on her face.

As if hearing her name, the door to the room opened and EDI walked in, followed closely by Joker who was limping slightly due to his issues with Vrolik syndrome—also known as brittle bone disease.

"Hey," said the pilot, while maneuvering to the left side of the bed, "nobody told us there was going to be a party. I would have brought cake and ice cream."

"It is doubtful the commander could ingest such nutrients at this time, Jeff," reproached the synthetic as she came to a halt by his side. "Hello, Shepard."

The fact that the Spectre's eyes had locked onto EDI like a sniper rifle laser sight the moment the synthetic entered the room did not escape Liara's notice. Nor did the intensity of her lover's gaze or that there was something ruminating within those pale green eyes. She doubted anyone else caught sight of Lakota's focused intensity, so instead of saying anything now, she made a mental note to ask about it later.

"What attack?" Lakota repeated, her voice even toned, giving no hint to the asari as to what she might be contemplating.

"It was the craziest thing, Commander," replied Joker. "One minute EDI's kicking ass with her cyber warfare suite, the next she's taking the term 'frozen in time' to a whole new level."

Although an artificially constructed being, the tone of EDI's voice was unmistakably dismissive. "I assure you, that was not my doing."

Narrowing her eyes, Lakota persisted in her line of inquiry. "What happened?"

EDI tilted her head slightly, directing her answer toward the Spectre. "After escaping to the Dakka system through the Sol Relay, a red wave of energy passed through the Normandy, at which time a foreign program attempted to gain access to my root processes. While combating the attack, I had to force a system shutdown so my source code could be scrubbed. I was offline for approximately six and a half minutes."

"Approximately?" Lakota had never heard the synthetic be less than specific when it came to numbers.

"The actual length of time was six minutes and twenty-two point forty-two seconds, but Jeff has informed me that precise numerical data is not necessary in casual conversation."

"I see."

"Would you prefer more accurate statistics in the future, Shepard?"

"Um… no, I don't think so. Not unless you're filling out a report."

"Very well. I shall continue to strive to be 'less than accurate' while socializing."

"You mentioned a red wave," said the Spectre. "What was it?"

"Unknown at this time," replied EDI, "The point of origin was the Citadel, but energy traveled quickly through all systems and had an immediate and devastating effect on the Reapers and their troops."

"What do you mean?"

"According to reports," answered Garrus, "the energy wave caused them to disintegrate."

Lakota's jaw dropped open in astonishment. "Disintegrate?"

Nodding her head, Tali added, "Yes. Or something close to it. The reports have been coming in from everywhere. Rannoch, Palaven, Sur'Kesh, Tuchanka… They're all saying the same thing – the Reapers are gone."

"That's..." Lakota's voice tapered off as she attempted to absorb the information. "… difficult to imagine," she finally said. Her eyes were unfocused, lost to the thoughts running through her head.

Liara intervened by continuing the story of the Normandy in the Dakka system, the repairs that had to be made to the communication buoys and the eventual trip back to the Sol System after the relay system had been deemed safe to use. From there she explained that Miranda had been contacted by Admiral Anderson and that she was the one who devised a system to track down the Spectre. The asari also spoke about Jack, Grunt and Samara's adventure locating and rescuing her from a fallen building and then the rush from London to New Zealand soon after she had been found.

"What about you, Commander?" said Joker, asking the question that was on everyone's mind, but that no one had yet asked. "How are you doing? What do you remember?"

While Liara had been talking, Lakota's sharp gaze had returned to EDI, the fluorescent lights illuminating the synthetic's metal skin in an unnatural halo. After the Normandy's pilot asked his questions, her eyes lingered a few moments longer on EDI, then the shifted over to him. "I don't know. Other than every inch of my body feeling stiff and a bit numb, my thoughts are still a bit muddled…"

As soon as the last word left the Spectre's mouth, Liara captured her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Because of her injuries and the pain medication she's been given, it could take a few days or more for Shepard to regain her memories."

"That's true," said Miranda, who overheard the conversation just as she entered the room. In an unspoken greeting, she tilted her head in Shepard's direction. "There's nothing to be concerned about. It's a common side effect to both the treatment you've undergone and the drugs that were administered."

Shepard frowned, but then nodded, acknowledging that she understood what she'd just been told.

"Visiting hours are now over," said Miranda addressing the room while typing in some note at the medical console next to bed, "the Commander needs to get some rest."

Without argument the group quickly said their goodbyes to the Spectre, promising to return the following day. When the door finally shut only Liara and Miranda remained.

"How are you feeling, Shepard?" asked the former Cerberus officer.

"Hungry, I think."

"You think?"

"I have a hard time distinguishing between boredom and hunger."

"Could be either in this place," remarked Liara, playfully.

Flashing a lopsided grin, Lakota said, "Exactly the point I was trying to make."

A chirping sound emanated from near the couch and Liara moved effortlessly towards it, picking up a datapad and then typing in some commands. After a moment, she returned to the bed, an apologetic expression on her face. "I'm sorry, I have to take care of this, but I'll be back soon. I promise." Before the Spectre could answer, the researcher had placed a kiss on her forehead and headed out the door.

Lakota looked at the woman standing next to the bed, her eyebrow raised inquisitively.

As she continued to add information into the console, Miranda commented, "Liara couldn't continue to work out of the Normandy, so her equipment was moved to a secure, non-Alliance, location."

"I assume you helped her."

The ex-Cerberus officer shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "Liara and I may not see eye to eye on many things, Shepard, but even I know her… network… needs to remain independent from government and military intervention."

"Agreed."

Miranda stopped entering data and stared intently at the Spectre. "Admittedly, I'm a little surprised. I thought you'd want the Alliance to have more… influence."

Lakota shook her head. "Not when it comes to Liara's current occupation. More good can be done if she stays independent." Smiling, she added, "And working from the shadows."

Finishing her work, Miranda spun on her foot, turning her full attention to the woman lying in bed. "You said you were hungry. Is there anything you'd like me to bring you before you rest?"

Pinching the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb, Lakota requested, "How about something to get rid of this migraine?"

"Look at me," stated Miranda as she pulled out a small penlight and stepped next to the bed.

The Spectre dropped her right hand to her side and then turned her head. "You say the sweetest things," she teased.

Miranda ignored the playful ribbing, her left hand gently touching Lakota's cheek and neck, steadying them as she shined the light into her eyes one at a time. "Everything looks okay. Your body is probably in need of some solid nutrition."

Sighing heavily, Lakota's head sank back into her pillow as exhaustion began to settle throughout her body. She attempted to stretch from head to toe, which proved difficult because every inch felt stiff and lethargic, while she debated whether or not she was truly hungry or just bored out of her mind.

Making an executive decision, Miranda said, "I'll go get you something to eat, then you can rest."

"Okay," said the Spectre, the lack of argument was a key indicator as to how uncomfortable the headache had become.

When Miranda reached the door, she heard her named called and turned to look back at the prone woman.

From across the room their eyes met, quietly holding the leisurely moment until Lakota broke the silence. "Thank you. For your friendship. For finding me. For saving my life... a second time."

"It wasn't just me," said the ex-Cerberus officer, shaking her head slightly, "I had help." Her blue eyes sparkled with unbridled intensity. "You have a lot of people who care about you, Shepard."

Nodding in agreement, Lakota said, "I'm very fortunate." She tilted her head to the side as though contemplating that thought, her gaze never dropping from Miranda's. "But still, thank you for all that you did. For all that you are doing. Thanks… for everything."

"You're welcome. And before you get too maudlin and sentimental, let me just say, it was my pleasure. I'm glad I could help you this time around."

"As am I."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Lakota stood at the window of her private room that looked across the Wellington Bay while sipping her morning coffee. Or at least what marginally passed for coffee. One of the Spectre's peculiar and more expensive vices was her love of a good cup of java. Between purchasing organic, earth grown coffee beans and "aged-to-perfection" cognac, the commander had been known to spend an entire month's salary. As such, she preferred to enjoy her caffeinated beverage in its purest form without additives or adulteration: black, no cream and no sugar. Just like her current mood.

She took another sip from her mug and then grimaced involuntarily as the hot, bitter liquid slipped past her tongue and down her throat, its taste she colorfully imagined being reminiscent of battery acid. The Systems Alliance Advanced Medical Institute may know how to save lives with medicine and machines, but they would have failed miserably if someone's life depended on a flavorful, dark roast brew.

Shaking her head in disgust, she tapped her omni-tool to verify the time and then checked her messages. Her date was ten minutes late and hadn't yet sent a communication. Sighing heavily, she bit back the sudden irritation that flared through her body. She was on edge and she knew it. The low-grade migraine throbbing in the back of her head and lack of quality sleep compiled with having too much idle time on her hands was a toxic combination. Too much time to think meant that there was too much time to traipse through memories past, which meant there was too much time to successfully avoid the second guessing and futile regrets that were inherently bound in the long view of hindsight.

She scowled as she straightened her posture, throwing her head back, dark locks falling loosely around her shoulders while the first light of day broke across the seascape, casting shadows of deep blue along the water. In the distant southern skies, dark grey thunder clouds rolled across the horizon. Somehow the moody weather felt like an omen.

For the first time in a week, she was dressed in something other than a hospital gown or comfortable loungewear. Her attire was simple and efficient: navy blue cargo pants with a matching blue and white short sleeved top. The pants were snug enough to accentuate her athletic legs while the shirt was loose enough to give the hint of sensuality beneath its surface. The N7 patch on its sleeve revealed it was an Alliance approved garment along with the marine issue black boots. Overall, the commander looked comfortable, but a solemn haze seemed to cling to her, as well. The brooding mood was depicted in the lethargy of her movements and the dull listlessness in her eyes.

After six long, tedious days of being confined to the medical facility, she finally succeeded in finagling her release, but only after agreeing to a few concessions—daily physical therapy, bi-weekly checkups and restricted military duties which loosely translated to "do absolutely nothing." All things considered, her recovery had gone well and was ahead of schedule, which is why the request was granted. With the help of modern medicine, two knowledgeable and fastidious women watching over her case and a body laced with cybernetic implants, the Spectre's lacerations, contusions and internal injuries had healed, and her broken bones had mended. She was still in the early stages of her rehabilitation, but at this point, both Miranda and Dr. Chakwas knew the Spectre's recovery would be hindered if she stayed any longer at the facility. Simply put, they knew their patient would go stir-crazy and do something impulsive or reckless out of sheer boredom.

"Enjoying one last view before you depart, Commander?" said Dr. Karin Chakwas as she entered the room. Dressed smartly in her finely pressed grey and white Alliance uniform, her shoulder length silver hair immaculately polished in both its sheen and style, the woman exuded a keen intelligence and an attractive self-assurance born from her years as a respected medical professional in military service. Even her European accent somehow enhanced her refined manner and graceful elegance.

Lakota turned her head, greeting the newcomer. "I sure hope it's my last view from this room."

With her slate green eyes twinkling in merriment, the older woman stopped in front of the window, standing to the left of her patient. "Not a fan of the accommodations?"

"Not a fan of being confined," the Spectre admitted, her lips curling into a rueful smile.

Chakwas and the commander had a unique relationship which had been forged on the Normandy SR-1 during the hunt for Saren, starting as professional colleagues and evolving into trusted friends. Over the years their familiarity and affection for each other was readily discernible in their easy-going camaraderie and respectful interplay.

"Actually," the doctor said, "I'm surprised to find that you're still here. I know how much you loved the med bay on the Normandy. I thought you'd have run for the hills once you were released."

"I was waiting on Liara, but it appears she was detained."

Frowning momentarily, Chakwas asked, "Where are you staying?"

"Anderson lined up an apartment subsidized by the Alliance. Lieutenant Commander Calibri is taking care of all the details."

"You don't sound happy about that."

"I'm not unhappy. I just don't have a lot of say in the matter."

"And that bothers you."

Lakota raised a challenging eyebrow. "Are asari blue?"

"You'd have more practical knowledge about that fact than I, Commander," Chakwas said playfully.

The Spectre shot the older woman a look of mock disdain, but after a few seconds her eyes brightened perceptibly. At that moment her omni-tool beeped, indicating that a message had been received. Tapping a in a few commands she quickly read the missive, then closed the display.

Sighing softly, she said, "Since Liara has just cancelled our date, how would you like to join me on a quest for a good cup of coffee?"

"As lovely as that sounds, I'm afraid I shall have to decline. Too many reports, too little time. Rain check?"

"Sure," Lakota said.

Only because of their long years of friendship did Chakwas hear the hint of disappointment in the Spectre's voice as she walked over toward her medical console by the side of the bed, accessing its holographic interface. "I saw Admiral Anderson leaving your room earlier. He seemed deep in thought."

Still staring out the window, Lakota shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "He was just making his daily rounds, asking if I remembered anything that happened, which I haven't. Not only are the Alliance and the Citadel Council applying pressure for answers, but now the media has stepped in, too."

Finishing her work with the nimble dance of a few keystrokes, Chakwas returned to stand by the Spectre's side. "I've never known him to give into political pressure of any sort. As for the media, I know he has kept the more tenacious ones at bay with the help of our krogan allies. I heard a rumor that Grunt has taken a particularly zealous interest in keeping the masses away from you. Thankfully, I've never had to deal with the media directly. Unlike you."

"Consider yourself lucky, Doc." Lakota let out a frustrated sigh. "Over the last few months I've tried to get along with the media maws, hell, I even let Allers broadcast her show on the ship," she said incredulously, "but now that I'm planet side, my patience is gone."

"If at first you don't succeed, Commander, then you try again." The older woman turned, looking at Lakota with a hard, focused expression. "When that fails, then you quit. No use being a fool about it."

Lakota nodded her head in agreement. "For me," she said, "one of the hardest things to learn after becoming a Spectre was which bridge to burn and which bridge to cross. But with the media, I've decided to just burn them all."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Because I'm so predictable?"

"Predictably obstinate," the doctor parried glibly.

Without missing a beat, the Spectre replied, "I honor my personality flaws. Without them I'd have no personality at all."

"I wouldn't call it a flaw."

"Oh?" Lakota said, her interest piqued. "What would you call it?"

"A defense mechanism."

The Spectre chuckled. "Good thing you're not in charge of my psych eval."

Tilting her head in thoughtful contemplation, Chakwas asked, "But if I was, what would you tell me?"

"That with the Reapers gone I was becoming increasingly worried and concerned about the lack of anxiety in my life." Lakota crossed her arms while leveling an impish gaze at her friend. "How many days of rehab would that get me?"

Chakwas' shoulders shook slightly in amusement. "At least a month on a tropical beach somewhere."

"Hmmm… I'll have to seriously consider it then."

As she gazed upon the younger woman who had gone through so much tragedy, a look of concern formed on Chakwas' face. After hesitating a moment, she said, "You mentioned something about finding a good cup of coffee, is the offer still open?"

"A minute ago you were too busy for coffee."

"It's been a very insightful minute." Playfully nudging the Spectre with her shoulder, Chakwas added, "Honestly, Commander, you need to work on your flexibility."

"Is that your professional opinion, Doc?

"Without a doubt," the older woman said matter-of-factly, one corner of her mouth curling in delighted merriment.

Grinning, the Spectre said, "Then I better start now... by finding us a good cup of coffee."

…

_A few hours earlier…_

"_Do you remember anything?"_

"_No, I don't. You?"_

_Admiral David Anderson was outfitted in his formal military uniform—a dark blue blazer adorned with various awards badges, insignias, service stripes and ribbons and navy blue pants with a white stripe down each side. He was a tall, dark skinned man with an athletic build that defied his age. A man who normally had an imposing presence, but today, in the Spectre's opinion, he looked rather small and weary._

"_My memories are choppy, but consistent. Making it to the beam, then suddenly being on the Citadel. The Illusive Man, you and I arguing. I was shot." The man paused momentarily, his lips pursing. "I died, I think… But then I woke up, still in London, close to where the beam had been." He glanced at the Spectre questioningly, as though hoping her answer may suddenly change. "You sure you don't remember anything?"_

"_No," Lakota repeated sharply, "I don't." _

_Anderson turned his full attention toward the Spectre, silently contemplating their situation._

_Lakota returned the look, surreptitiously eyeing her old mentor, her friend, and then flashed him a noncommittal smile. "I can make something up if that will help."_

"_If I thought it would, I'd have made something up already."_

_Lakota frowned as though deep in thought. "You look tired," she finally said._

_"I am," he sighed. "If possible, I believe things are more hectic now that the Reapers are gone." The man gazed out the window, losing himself in the rolling waves of the bay. "People are confused and looking for someone or some group to take charge in restoring a semblance of order to their lives. Most governments are looking to the Citadel Council to lay the groundwork for inter-species cooperation."_

"_I heard you've been re-appointed as humanity's representative," Lakota said, wondering if the rumors were true._

"_It's temporary… until they can find somebody more suitable for the position. It's also why I'm dressed in this monkey suit." The Admiral's hands made a flippant gesture as though unveiling his uniform for all to see. "Reports, interviews, debriefings. I've had more face time as a diplomat than I ever had as an officer. Almost makes me wish I was still in the trenches."_

_"Nah, then you'd miss out on all the fun."_

_"Fun?" Anderson said skeptically._

_"Yeah, fun. As a diplomat you get to tell someone to hell in such a way that they'll look forward to the trip."_

_"I think you've missed the point of being a diplomat."_

_"Probably why I'm not one."_

_The Admiral rolled his eyes in gentle exasperation._ _"With the mass relays working again, people are scampering to get home, find their loved ones and rebuild their lives, but we still have the issue of the Citadel being in the Sol System. The best scientists are trying to figure out how to get it back to the Serpentine Nebula, but first they've had to assess the damage done when it moved. Thankfully, the casualty rate of the inhabitants was much lower than expected."_

"_Makes sense that the Reapers would set up various Wards as internment camps like they did on Earth and the other home worlds," Lakota said. "It was a logical way for the Reapers to keep people in check and subject them to indoctrination while they focused their efforts on the war."_

_Anderson acknowledged the statement with a nod of his head. "And now we're left to pick up the pieces."_

"_Considering the alternative, that's not such a bad deal."_

_Lakota was quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts together. "I've heard that the Reapers caused minimal damage on the salarian, quarian and krogan home worlds and although Palaven sustained heavy damage, the turians are already focusing the majority of their resources and energy on restoration efforts. As for Thessia, only time will tell. I have no idea if the asari will ever be able to recover from the level of destruction they endured. But…" the Spectre said, narrowing her eyes questioningly, "what happened to the geth? Nobody is saying a word."_

"_I suppose people are staying silent because they don't know exactly what happened to the geth… and our synthetic allies aren't offering much information on the subject either."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_To the best of our knowledge, the wave of red energy that took out the Reapers also affected a certain percentage of geth troops."_

"_A certain percentage…" Lakota whispered, her eyes widening in surprise. "So it's true, some survived? Intel on them has been sketchy, at best." She didn't mention that the classified information she was reviewing came from Liara's well-placed agents. _

"_We don't have an accurate count and the quarian's peaceful relationship with the geth is still in its infancy. Basically, the geth haven't been forthcoming about the losses they incurred. Hell, they're probably still trying to sort it out for themselves."_

"_But there are survivors?"  
_

"_From what we can tell, although the energy wave wiped out a large percentage of them, the majority of the geth were unaffected."_

_Lakota stared incredulously at the Admiral as though he had just grown wings._

"_You okay, Shepard?"_

_Startled out of the thoughts running through her head, Lakota stammered, "What? Uh… yeah… I'm okay. I just hadn't… it all seems so strange."_

"_Tell me about it," Anderson said sardonically. "Brighter minds than mine will figure it out, of that I am sure. For now though, we still have to unravel the mystery of the Crucible, the Catalyst and the Citadel. We need to know exactly what happened and how it happened." _

…

For Lakota, the fitness center in the medical facility was better than working out in the Alliance's private gym on the base. There was the benefit of less people using the equipment and fewer security cameras. Plus, it was outfitted with varied and up to date machinery. It had a full nautilus setup, a complete set of free weights, a bench press, four treadmills, an elliptical machine, two stair climbers, two stationary bikes, jump ropes, a heavy bag, and a speed bag. There was a lap pool off the gym and a sauna, whirlpool, shower area and massage setup in between the rooms. The ceiling of the gym was high, the walls were mirrored and the floor was done in some type of resilient rubber padding. This was the only room that she had been in that didn't have a view of the bay, but bright fluorescent lights made up for it by giving the illusion of permanent daylight.

"_Wake up."_

The Spectre was grateful for the extra dose of caffeine she had this morning at the quaint coffee shop she and Dr. Chakwas discovered close to the institute. Whether psychological or not, the Spectre felt more alert and energetic.

"_The Citadel. It's my home."_

It was still early morning, so Lakota took extra time stretching each and every muscle of her body. She had taken the time to change into a dark blue tank top, heather grey shorts and a comfortable pair of grey and white gym shoes before starting her exercise routine, so she felt prepped and ready to burn off her unruly agitation. Although she had physical therapy every day for the last week, her body still felt tight and her muscles stiff. She wanted to work out all of the kinks before exerting any kind of focused energy, so she kept her pace slow and methodical as though trying to hold each pose to its maximum stretching potential. When she finished, she walked over to an empty corner of the room. She lifted her arms straight up over her head, kicked one leg in front of her while lunging forward and placing both hands in front of her on the floor, shoulder-width apart. Using the momentum from the lunge, she kicked one leg up, and then followed it with her other leg and popped into a handstand. She held the pose for a count of five then dipped down, touching her nose to the mat and began a set of fifteen, free-standing handstand pushups. By using her core muscles and hand muscles she kept her body balanced while maintaining her rigid posture. In peak health, she was usually good for fifty, but today fifteen caused her arms to shake from the exertion.

"_I am the Catalyst."_

Even as a child, Lakota had excellent hand-eye coordination, strength and agility. Those traits had been recognized and nurtured soon after joining the Tenth Street Reds by the Den Mother who had handpicked her for specialized training. As the handstand pushups continued, Lakota thought back upon those early years in the Reds—the wisdom of time bringing insight and clarity to a period which was filled with deception.

"_I control the Reapers. They are my solution."_

In the beginning of her life with the Reds, Lakota was schooled in gymnastics and martial arts. Discipline, concentration and confidence were the primary focus of her developmental skill set. When her aptitude for math and science emerged, the Den Mother—who rewarded intelligence—ushered Lakota into an education which revolved around the various engineering branches: physics, mathematics, and mechanical systems. Those hand-picked disciples who excelled in their scientific studies were encouraged by the Den Mother to seek out other creative influences, as well. Lakota had chosen music to balance out her cultural learning, specifically learning how to play the cello. The dedication, creativity and focused passion required to play the instrument had been valuable outlets during her adolescence and youth. Although she hadn't played since joining the Alliance, Lakota had always felt that playing music allowed her to touch upon the four bodies that make a person whole—the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual realms.

"_Reapers harvest all life, organic and synthetic…"_

She strolled nimbly over toward the heavy bag, grabbed a pair of red training gloves and then launched an all-out attack. She funneled the irritation generated from her memories by spinning in mid-air to kick the bag and then whirled gracefully, and with a precise ballet-like fluidity, to drive home an elbow which led into another kick. Her movements were sometimes too quick to follow and the heavy bag pitched and shivered as she hit it, kicked it, slashed it and butted it, all at what appeared to be the speed of sound. The red gloves she wore were no more than a red blur as she repeatedly hit the bag with a rhythmic cadence. For the coup de grace she leapt into the air, scissor-kicked the bag with both feet and went into a backward somersault as she landed on her back, rolling to her feet in one continuous motion.

"_You have choice, more than you know…"_

She was breathing hard and her toned, lissome body was glistening with sweat as she stared at the heavy bag swinging aimlessly. She tried to push the thoughts of a shimmering construct out of her mind and moved back to the heavy bag to work on her punches.

"_If there is to be a new solution, you must act." _

Most people back down in the face of savagery. In a civilized world, it is not a common trait to be confronted with, but growing up in the slums where a social hierarchy of brutality existed, those who were the most savage were the ones with the most power. This power had nothing to do with physical strength; it was bound in the strength of one's convictions, personality and will. While still with the Reds, Lakota encountered a surly man who was twice her size and was looking for a fight. He was from a rival gang and wanted to make a mark by taking down the oppositions' leaders. He was belligerent and loud, but she was able to end the confrontation before it began. He stood a foot taller than her with an expression reminiscent of a snarl, yet she met his gaze without flinching. She looked him straight in the eye with an icy, dead calm stare and in an impassive voice said, "I don't want to fight you because we both know that you will eventually win. You might even kill me. But know this… I will make it my life's purpose to tear out your eyes before that happens." The bloodthirsty sincerity of her statement caused the man to falter. He looked at her for a few moments, shook his head and then walked away. When she joined the Alliance, she didn't have to learn how to intensify her fighting style, she had to learn how and when to rein in her brutality.

"_The Crucible will not discriminate. All synthetics will be targeted."_

She had learned to box shortly after she joined the Alliance. A member of her platoon had taken her under his wing, teaching her the basics and she took to it quickly. As she hit some combination cycles, chaotic images and sensations flashed within her mind. A white light, the feeling of being suffocated, Anderson and the Illusive Man, pain and blood, falling… The more she tried to focus the more elusive the images became and the harder her punches hit. The muscles in her upper body coiled and uncoiled in her sweat-shiny skin as she hooked the heavy bag—three left hooks, one right and then repeated the pattern in an endless loop. The bag bounced and swayed on the heavy chains. The shock of the punches went up her forearms. That had been one of the first surprises when she had first started to box: punches hurt the wrists and forearms. Until she had built them up she had been not only arm weary, but arm sore.

"_Even you are partly synthetic."_

As she was beating the hell out of her simulated opponent, she caught her reflection in the mirrors. She felt sort of silly, but the imagined pummeling of a small, shimmering being with a matter-of-fact malevolence still felt good. She spent another forty-five minutes channeling her frustration to exhaustion and her body to the point of fatigue.

"_The paths are open, but you have to choose."_

Lakota was a weapon, she knew it. What the Reds started the Alliance had finished and polished, but the difference between the two organizations was vast. What the Reds had forced and manipulated, the Alliance had offered freely. Where the Reds had tainted choice with false illusions, the Alliance had shed light. A few years ago, the Den Mother, who once held so much power over Lakota, walked back into her life and tried to reassert her previous dominance, but the Spectre refused and ended her mentor's life. That ordeal forced Lakota to come to terms with her past and the choices she had made. She finally realized that when she left the Reds, she had reclaimed the power that had been taken from her as a child. And when she chose to enlist with the Alliance, she had chosen to become a weapon all on her own.

As she wrapped up her workout, the words of Admiral Steven Hackett echoed through her thoughts:

"_Sometimes harsh things need to be done in war. Inevitably, each and every one of us will face a moment where we have to decide and commit to that tough choice. If we flinch in that moment, if we hesitate for one second, if we let our conscience get in the way, you know what happens? There are more people dead."_

When she made her choice, she knew; knew that she would die, that EDI would cease to function, that all synthetics would be destroyed, but it was not in her nature to admit defeat or succumb without a fight, no matter how hopeless the struggle. When she made the choice, she had been willing to take the responsibility that went along with it, but in all reality she was going to be dead, so the ramifications and weight of that choice were supposedly only going to last a few microns in the real world, an eternity in the next. But the events that unfolded afterward did not go as predicted. She had survived along with EDI and the majority of the geth. What she had been told would happen and what actually happened were two very divergent outcomes and now, alive and well, she was struggling with their discrepancies and their deeper, more personal implications. Until she understood what happened, until she felt more settled with the aftermath and the consequences of her actions, she intended to continue circumventing and censoring the accuracy of the events as she remembered them.

After all, she didn't really know what happened after she entered the beam. Not definitely. Her memories or what she thought she remembered didn't add up to the reality that currently existed, so they could be a delusion brought on by physical and mental stress. Or even indoctrination. She wasn't so foolish not to consider that option. She'd been around Reapers and their technology more than most and knew she held no special immunity to their insidious means of mind control.

She knew if she told anybody what she remembered that they would think she was crazy or was telling some bizarre, "not quite conceivable" truth. At this moment, without knowing what the truth actually was, without believing that her own memories were honest reflections of her experience, she was going to stay silent. She had once been told that discretion was the better part of valor, now she had an experience to apply it towards. The Spectre also reasoned that she wasn't exactly lying; she was just divulging a highly edited truth.

Lakota shook her head ruefully as she ambled to the showers. Since her early days with the Reds, she had always been on the run, she had always been moving, always moving forward, with no time to think about the consequences of her decisions. And then, suddenly, when she hit a week of nothing, there was nothing to do but look back and face the demons of her choices. The time on her hands was disconcerting. For the Spectre, a lot of what she did and who she was—her rules, principles and guidelines—was something that she felt more than thought about. Guided by her instincts and intellect, she just did. It was not in her nature to unduly ruminate or self-castigate on choices made, but the decision she made on the Citadel was somehow different and she couldn't shake the darkness it attracted.

When she had stripped off her clothes and the hot water was sluicing over her weary muscles, a thought came unbidden to her weary mind.

"_The Catalyst was wrong, all synthetic life didn't end. So what the hell really happened?"_


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note:

Real life has interrupted the creative process a bit, so my updates have been sporadic at best. With that in mind, I want to thank those who are still following this story. I greatly appreciate your interest and continued feedback.

Also, I want to thank my beta reader, Lyaksandra, who tirelessly continues to offer aid to my stories.

* * *

Chapter 10

The doors of the Alliance armory swooshed open and Lakota walked through the threshold slowly with a controlled, deliberate grace, a deadly way of moving that precluded unnecessary or wasted motion. While she had been working out, Garrus sent an invitation to join him and Javik—the only known survivor of the ancient Prothean race—at the armory for target practice, a favorite activity of the Spectre's. So, after cleaning up, she changed back into the comfortable navy blue cargo pants and matching blue and white short sleeved top with the N7 patch on the shoulder and headed out to meet with them, happy to be distracted from her brooding. As luck would have it, they were the only ones at the firing range ensuring that they would have their pick of weapons to choose.

Twenty minutes into their range time, Lakota took her weapon of choice, the Black Widow sniper rifle, to the modifications bench and began installing a concentration module and thermal scope. Her previous sniper rifle, which she had named '_Dama de las Sombras' _or 'Lady of the Shadows'_, _had either been lost or destroyed during the last battle while running toward the Citadel beam. That meant she was currently looking to replace the rifle, but the process was never simple. Every sniper knows that no two rifles are the same and they each live or die by the motto "know thyself, know thy rifle." Being aware of how a weapon responds in different environments, how it handles in extreme situations and even its durability is all life-saving knowledge, and Lakota applied this motto to every piece of weaponry she used. Every weapon had its own uniqueness and she had to find the one that felt right—the right weight, the right texture, the right essence, because on some level it was an extension of herself. She trusted her life and the life of others to its performance; therefore the rifle she took into battle had to be of superior quality, had to pass a rigorous assortment of stress tests and most importantly, had to _feel_ right in her hands.

Garrus was running through his rack of assault rifles calibrating each one's kickback and accuracy as Javik stepped away from the firing line shelter with his submachine gun in hand, quickly crossing the distance to the bench where the Spectre stood. In Prothean society, Javik was considered elite amongst the elite. He was an Avatar of his people, one of the few who were chosen to embody a single virtue for their society, and vengeance was his virtue. After his stasis pod was discovered on Eden Prime and his body revived, the Prothean joined the fight against the Reapers, but his integration into the Spectre's squad was not a smooth transition. The difficulty was mostly due to the vast cultural rift between the ideals of the Prothean Empire, an imperialistic society, and those of the current cycle, a collective of independent races.

The Protheans—and therefore Javik—believed that evolution, or the "Cosmic Imperative" as they termed it, was the driving force in the universe and that the strong must flourish by dominating the weak for the greater good of all. Although Lakota logically understood the merits of Javik's belief, they had many heated discussions during which the Spectre argued against the Prothean. He believed that mercy was a weakness, not a strength; she agreed when it involved her enemies, but not when it involved intimate relationships whether it be friends or lovers. He was generally dismissive of morality and friendship and viewed allies simply as a resource to use against the Reapers; she disagreed, believing that in this cycle all races were going to have to trust in each other and join together on a united front in order to stop the Reapers.

Regardless of their arguments though, the two respected each other's abilities and in the end, while in battle, Javik followed the orders that Lakota issued without hesitation.

The Prothean laid the submachine gun down on the bench, then turned to the human. "Commander," he said curtly, "have your memories returned?" The dark burgundy armor he wore added to his stoic countenance.

Lakota remained focused on upgrading the rifle on the bench as though she hadn't heard the Prothean's question. Normally she appreciated his straightforwardness, but today the trait grated on her nerves. "Not yet," she replied, her voice toneless and flat.

"I can help you."

"Help?" Lakota said incredulously as a sharp sting of irritation lanced through her body. How dare he be so presumptuous to assume that she wanted or needed his help. She ground her teeth tightly together, feeling the dull ache of a migraine begin to blossom at the back of her head. Taking a controlled, deep breath, she reined in her ire, then exhaled slowly, forcing her tone to be neutral, masking any indication of annoyance. "How?"

"With a simple touch, I will be able to recall what you have forgotten."

Although not common knowledge, Prothean's had a unique physiological attribute, an experiential exchange system that was based on physical contact. By touching something or someone, a Prothean could recall its experiences. Javik had performed such a reading in the Normandy's cargo hold. He had touched the room's floor, reading the biological markers left in the residual DNA of the previous occupant, accurately recounting Grunt's life as a tank bred Krogan.

Lakota shook her head, a cold ruthlessness coming into her eyes. "No, I don't think so."

"It will only take a moment," Javik explained, his tone imperious. "Primitives are easy for me to read."

"No," the Spectre repeated, her mouth twisting into a snarl as she turned, squaring her shoulders to meet him face to face. She could sense the fission of anger, a slow burning in her stomach beginning to spread through her body.

"In my cycle, weakness was not tolerated."

"Weakness?" There was a brittle, caustic quality to the Spectre's tone.

Javik's four eyes narrowed in skepticism as he struggled to comprehend the human's hesitation. "Your refusal is born of fear," he said condescendingly.

"I'm not afraid," Lakota stated coolly. Her distaste for this conversation was growing exponentially and in the back of her mind the Spectre knew she needed to remove herself from this situation and from the Prothean before she did or said something imprudent.

Without warning Javik's hand made a movement toward her.

Before it connected, Lakota took a step back, just out of the Prothean's reach, her body colliding with the weapons bench. "Don't touch me!" she snapped, outraged that he would attempt physical contact without her permission. Then, her voice grew sharper, harsh with barely suppressed rage. "My memories, whether I recall them or not, are my own! They are not for you to judge!"

Arrogantly, he replied, "I do not judge, Commander."

"Bullshit!" she yelled, her tone laced with venom. "That's all you've done since stepping out of your stasis pod!" Resentment and spite seethed within each of her words. "I am so goddamn tired of your 'holier than thou' attitude!"

"Your irritation is irrelevant. I _can_ retrieve your memories." Javik took a step forward, closing some of the distance to the Spectre.

"Back off, Javik," Lakota growled, her face contorting in rage. She was losing control quickly. She had to get out of this room and get away from Javik, but the Prothean was blocking the only path to the entrance, making her feel cornered.

Ignoring the Spectre's warning, Javik stated, "It will only take a moment." Then, he took another step forward.

With no room to retreat, Lakota's body instinctively settled low into a protective crouch. Fury illuminated her icy green eyes in an animal-like savagery as her breath hissed between clenched teeth. "I said… back off!" As the words slipped past her lips, a sudden blast of biotic energy erupted from her clenched fists which slammed into Javik, hurling him through the air and against the wall four meters away.

Lakota stared dumbfounded at the slumped Prothean who was now sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. He was only slightly dazed, his armor having absorbed most of the impact. She then glanced at her hands, stunned by the aggressive biotic energy they had produced. As the color and fury drained from her face with the rapidity of lightning, confusion and uncertainty sprang forth. Without saying a word, she gave a fleeting glance to Javik and then quickly departed the firing range.

Garrus, who had turned around in time to see Javik catapulted into the wall and the Spectre leave the room, walked over to the Prothean as he struggled to stand. He held out his hand, but Javik refused the help and instead used the wall to steady himself as he regained his footing.

"What did you say to her?" the Turian asked, knowing full well that the Prothean's haughty attitude could be difficult to endure at times.

"I said nothing."

"Uh-huh…" Garrus replied, his tone disbelieving. "Then what the hell happened?"

"Apparently, the Commander is content to be without her memories," Javik stated sardonically. "I will never understand primitive logic."

Chuckling, the Turian said, "On a positive note, one of my theories was just proven."

"Which was?" Javik grumbled.

"Given sufficient thrust even a Prothean can fly."

Javik muttered something unintelligible, grabbed an assault rifle from the weapons bench and then moved over toward a firing line shelter to continue testing.

Frowning, Garrus watched the Prothean strut away, then activated his omni-tool and began to type a message. "Liara has got her hands full with you," he muttered under his breath as he pressed _send_.

…

After leaving the armory, Lakota resorted to something she had only done as a child: she fled. As quickly as her long strides would carry her, she made her escape from both Javik and the moment of her undoing. The moment she lost control of herself.

How did that happen? Why did that happen? _What_ the hell happened?

The early afternoon sun was high in the now cloudless New Zealand sky brightening the day and warming the salty air blowing in from the sea, but with her attention fully rooted on the sense of disequilibrium and questions peppering her mind, the Spectre barely noticed the beautiful scenery. Ten minutes later, she arrived at the nearby arboretum which was run by the Institute for the purpose of scientific research, conservation and education. Without thought, she headed down a wooded walking trail not slowing her pace until she came upon a bluff overlooking the bay. Close to the protective railing outlining the safety perimeter was a worn wooden bench, a lonely fixture, solitary and forsaken on the backdrop of a rippling watery background.

Before she even registered what she was doing, Lakota had activated her omni-tool and initiated a vid call to Liara, the Asari whose voice was the one balm that always soothed her nerves. After the fifth ring the call went to an automated vid mail system, but Lakota terminated the connection before leaving a message. She needed to talk with her lover, not leave a distraught video communiqué.

The Spectre stood for a moment, trembling uncontrollably, hoping the calming vista would help her regain her composure and rebuild her self-control, which seemed startlingly tenuous and fragmented. Then, she was suddenly sitting down on the bench, her right hand clutching at her chest as her heart beat frantically and her breath came in short, sharp gasps. She was afraid, panicked. She had only meant to verbally threaten and intimidate in order to make Javik withdraw, but instead her reaction to him turned into a wild and violent physical display, saturated in an anger she had been unable to contain, unable to satiate. Her body shuddered involuntarily as she sensed the wisp-like tendrils of the anger's remnants continuing to flow along the edge of her perception like a foul, but intimate caress.

Logically, she knew the instinctive, natural way to express anger was to respond aggressively. It was an innate, adaptive response to threats and inspired powerful, often aggressive, feelings and behaviors, which allow individuals to fight and to defend themselves when attacked. A certain amount of anger, therefore, was necessary for survival. But as a sniper, she had been trained to control every emotion she had. Qualities such as patience, concentration, and emotional discipline were paramount for her to be successful and she had invested years in mastering her emotions, especially anger. That specific emotion triggered all of those effects that were detrimental for a sniper—adrenaline flowed, the pulse quickened, muscles tightened and careless or irrational behavior was more likely—the exact bundle of combustible ingredients that mixed right before the explosive interaction with Javik.

How had that happened?

Since joining the Alliance, she had never lost control of herself or lashed out in an emotional display, verbal or otherwise. She had been angry and infuriated many times, but never to the extent that the emotion controlled her and her actions. She prided her herself on responding, not reacting in those circumstances, and as such her backlash was usually cold, controlled and calculating. Growing up in the slums, she had seen too many people act without thinking, and the consequences were always severe. But while facing Javik it was as though all of those childhood lessons, all the Alliance training she had undergone meant nothing as her self-control faded away—like grains of sand slipping between her fingers.

Why did that happen?

Since waking in the hospital, Lakota had felt unsettled, ungrounded. Her perception and effect on the events around her gave the impression of being just out of reach, so she watched as moments unraveled instead of investing in them directly, like a spectator to her own existence. All that surrounded her—people, places, and events—had a surreal quality, and at times, she questioned whether her understanding of them was fully rooted in reality. She felt detached, split in two, connected to nothing, like she had one foot still in the dreamscape and the other in the real world, but her psyche was still traveling the plane between the two realms. The effect was disorienting and she wasn't sure if she could trust what she was being told or what she saw. What was true, what were lies? Her mind questioned everything, putting all facts through a rigorous litany of questions and counter-questions. The meticulousness was exhausting, but being the only sanity check at her disposal, it was necessary. She was not ready to share this information with anyone else. She was barely making sense of it on her own.

What the hell happened?

The powerlessness she had felt in the aftermath of her shattered composure had frightened the Spectre and she hated being afraid almost as much as she hated feeling out of control, so she fled trying to recoup her lost poise and peace of mind.

She needed to relax, to calm down. She needed to center herself. She needed Liara.

Activating her omni-tool once again, she initiated another vid call but this time when the call went to an automated vid mail system, she mustered her impassive command mask and left a message.

"Hey, Liara, it's just me. No emergency, just wondering where you are. Call when you can."

Regardless of her current distress, Lakota couldn't bring herself to willing expose her vulnerability, to voice her need for comfort. Not even to the one whose presence could soothe her anxiety and quiet the fears within.

Where was Liara? Why didn't she answer? What was so important that kept her from showing up at the medical facility this morning, from answering her calls now? An ache blossomed in Lakota's chest as hurt and frustration dripped off her like beads of sweat. Had Liara's work become so essential that her importance in the Asari's life had begun to dwindle? Did the researcher no longer care enough to see or talk to her unless it was convenient?

In that moment of doubt and rejection, Lakota's shoulders sagged and she hunched over, elbows on her thighs, her face resting in both hands. Her body shook violently as a chill overtook her followed by a wave of nausea and then her stomach muscles clenching.

She was used to fear, she had dealt with it her whole life and had learned from an early age to recognize it and contain it. This feeling that was currently assailing her senses was something else entirely, it was desperation mixed with the wretchedness of vulnerability. In this moment, she didn't want to be alone.

She reactivated her omni-tool and initiated another call. This time, the recipient answered after the first ring.

"_Shepard!"_ The tone of the voice sounded genuinely happy.

"Hey, Miranda."

"_How are you feeling?"_

Lakota smiled, just happy and relieved to be talking to a friendly face. "I'm either tired or hungry. Still can't tell them apart."

"_Since you slept the week away, I am going to guess that you're hungry."_

"Don't confuse me with your logic." She grinned playfully, her mood shifting drastically in light of the easy-going distraction.

"_Well, you look tired, too."_

Noticing the concern in Miranda's eyes, Lakota replied, "I'm fine. Probably overdid my morning workout." Then she pinched the bridge of her nose, fending off the start of a migraine that flared unexpectedly behind her eyes.

"_Bloody hell, Shepard! We just put you back together." _

"I was just making sure everything still worked." Her friend's concern seemed out of proportion to the situation, but then the Spectre begrudgingly admitted that she wasn't in the best frame of mind to gauge someone else's emotional state.

"_You need to take better care of yourself."_

"Probably."

"_Liara wouldn't appreciate your lack of care."_

Lakota snorted in disbelief, but didn't comment on her lover's would be concerns, instead she attempted to change the subject. "How are things going with you?" After living with the other woman for almost a year on the Normandy, she knew her moods almost as well as Liara's. Something was bothering her.

The ex-Cerberus officer opened her mouth to speak but closed it just as quickly, her face contorting into a pained expression.

"Miranda? What's wrong?"

"_Jacob's dead."_

Lakota stared at the image on the omni-tool, grateful that she was already sitting down. Her eyes narrowed, looking at the holographic image of the woman thoughtfully, as if unable to discern the truth of her words through sound and instead, complex visual scrutiny was needed for comprehension. "What?" she finally choked out after the lump in her throat dissipated.

"_When I arrived, I put the word out that I was looking for him. Damn war made a mess of all communication." _Miranda took a long, slow breath._ "He was a casualty of the last battle. I just found out this morning."_

Everything seemed to start moving in slow motion as shock resonated through the Spectre's body, dulling her senses, making her shake uncontrollably once again. She breathed heavily, fighting the mounting sensation of the two worlds in her psyche colliding, leaving a path of devastation in the wake of their mutual annihilation. The validity of death was irrefutable, no doubt or second guessing existed for her in its revelation, just an oppressive sadness. "How?"

"_Apparently he was protecting a group of civilians from Reaper ground troops."_

Silence followed. Lakota was consumed with a myriad of thoughts, through which confusion abounded and bred. Hadn't she just seen Jacob a few weeks ago on the Citadel? He was so happy and excited about being a father. She recalled the way his face lit up when he spoke of his unborn child, a girl, and how he wanted to wait for the perfect moment before he proposed to Dr. Brynn Cole. The former Alliance marine and Cerberus Soldier had so much too look forward to, so much to live for.

"_Shepard?"_

Lakota's gaze shifted to the ground in front of her, studying the various blades of green grass. She sighed heavily. "I was just thinking of Brynn. Their child."

"_I know."_

"He had so much going for him and was so determined to be a better father than his own. He wanted to be around for his kid, to watch her grow up."

"_I know."_

"Ironic, I suppose," Lakota muttered bitterly. "This blasted war has destroyed so much."

"_Shepard?"_

"I'm fine," she lied. "Just took the wind out of me."

"_I've got some free time. Do you feel like joining me for lunch?"_

Miranda was offering to fill the void just as Lakota had desired when she placed the call, but when the offer was made she realized that the only one person could truly fill the empty space. Any other would be a shadow in comparison.

"No, I'm not hungry. Thank you, though." To ease the other woman's concerns, she added, "I'm heading over the apartments. Time to see what accommodations a Spectre is allocated."

"_Okay, but if you change your mind, you know how to reach me."_

"I do. And thanks… for telling me about Jacob and the offer of lunch."

"_No problem, just remember to take care of yourself, ok? Don't push yourself too hard or soon I'll have to start charging you."_

Miranda's attempt at levity fell flat but Lakota appreciated the gesture nonetheless. "Noted."

After the call ended, she kept her omni-tool active and initiated a new call, to the one whose company she truly desired. Third time's the charm, right?

The call went unanswered once more, automatically being transferred to vid mail. Lakota terminated it before the greeting had ended.

She sighed heavily, feeling as lonely and forsaken as the bench beneath her, saturated in her own desolation and sorrow regarding Jacob's death. Not to mention her own sense of abandonment. She closed her eyes, taking in the smell of the salty air and, there in the distance, heard the distinctive metal rattling of the rigging on boat masts swaying to the movement of the waves. Above that, she could hear the gentle ebb and flow of the sea casting a hypnotic rhythm as it crashed against the rocky cliff below.

In the natural symphony of combined sounds emanating from the seascape, the serene melody of tones and harmonies blending together in the creation of something greater than the sum of their parts, she felt completely and utterly alone.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Lakota rummaged through the unfamiliar cupboards in her kitchen. The room she had been issued, located on the seventh floor of the Alliance owned apartments, was small but efficient. The kitchen, dining, and living rooms occupied a single open space with the bedroom and bath in separate rooms off the main. It was larger than her quarters on the Normandy, but lacking in the comforts of personal taste. The only non-standard amenity was the long balcony that overlooked the harbor which was accessible through both the bedroom and the living room.

Once she found her prize, a clear, short-rimmed glass, she placed it on the counter-top and opened the bottle of whiskey she had purchased while en route to her newly assigned quarters. She had been informed that this space was to be her temporary residence while she continued to recover, but the Spectre could read between the lines. The Alliance wanted to know what happened before the red wave of energy stopped the Reapers and felt she was the key to that knowledge, so they were going to keep a close, discerning eye on her.

She despised being watched even more than she despised thresher maws.

Biting back a fitful growl, Lakota poured the smooth amber liquid into the glass, then set the bottle back on the counter. She looked around the apartment taking note of the beige walls, off-white carpet and light brown furniture. Neutral colors which were supposed to inspire a safe, restful environment, a décor that never went out of style and mixed easily with other accent shades.

The Spectre scowled. She thought the room was bland and boring, tasteless in its benign strategy to please all.

Raking her fingers roughly through her dark, free flowing hair, Lakota reflected on the scene with Javik. She had been unusually agitated all day and that irritation had erupted so quickly beyond anger and into full force rage that she barely had time to contain her wrath and the irrational instinct to cause the Prothean harm. Yes, he had pressed her, but her impulsive reaction, the biotic push, was both excessive and unprecedented. She had no idea where that wellspring of fury originated; she just knew whenever she looked at Javik the urge to tear him apart surged through her with no filter.

Even the use of her biotic ability was a strange way for her irritation to manifest because it wasn't something she was accustomed to wielding. The capability had only emerged after being revived by the Cerberus funded Lazarus Project and as such, the innate talent had not yet been developed to its fullest potential. There just hadn't been time. The only training she had received was from Samara on the Normandy SR-2 while solving the mystery of the lost human colonists. The Justicar had guided her through some basic disciplines, but the Spectre's confidence in her biotic ability remained rudimentary at best. As an infiltrator, her sniper skills and tech tricks were the most implemented and valued tools in her arsenal.

She took a long drink from the glass in her hand, the smoky depths of whiskey flashing a golden fire even in the low illumination of the room. There was no soda or ice to cut it this night, no tempering mix to lessen its impact as it slid down her throat to land hotly in her stomach. The burning sensation helped distract her from her thoughts just as she knew the alcohol would eventually deaden and dull her mind and ease the constant throbbing ache in her head. The medication Chakwas had issued only helped in taking the edge off her migraine, she was counting on the strong liquid to quiet the rest.

Crossing the room to stand outside on the balcony, Lakota appraised the tranquil scene of twilight settling on the landscape. The view of the harbor spanned across the entire bay including the mouth which opened up to the ocean and continued to the indefinite line on the horizon. The night was cool and the sun had already disappeared from view, but the evening rays that stretched across the skyline consisted of burnt orange and yellow hues which were nothing short of spectacular as they reflected off the soft clouds and rippling water.

Liara's absence when she'd been released from the medical facility had been both disappointing and disconcerting. The inability to reach her after leaving the firing range, the unreturned calls and subsequent unanswered message, added to the hurt and sense of loneliness the miscommunication produced. She tried to blame bad timing for their inability to connect, but of late there seemed to be no good time for quality moments to occur. Every day more and more of the researcher's time and attention had been drawn to her work as the Shadow Broker. With the galaxy's masses recovering from their would be annihilation, a unique opportunity to place agents in key positions within various government branches had arisen, but timing such critical arrangements was tricky and the Asari had often been called away or stayed away working long, unpredictable hours.

Months ago, not long after Liara had taken up the reins as the Shadow Broker, Lakota realized that the position was far more than just an occupation and its implications were defined well beyond that of just one individual. To the best of the Spectre's knowledge, the Asari was the third person to seize control of the vast network which was secretly threaded into every known corner of the universe, but she sometimes wondered if its history could be traced to an even early date in time. Only a handful of individuals were privy to the knowledge that the researcher was now the head of the expansive organization and even fewer knew the intricacies and personal sacrifices the job demanded. Recently, the Spectre was all too aware of these overarching obligations and the constraints and complications they provoked within intimate relationships.

For most, the Shadow Broker was an enigmatic, mysterious and omniscient entity who worked through agents selling information, classified or mundane, to the highest bidder. For Lakota, the Shadow Broker was a mere image or illusion tied to a concept which went beyond the reach of just one person. A single individual may pull the strings, but the Shadow Broker was a personage created to be larger than life, perceived as being everywhere at once, and designed to have unparalleled sway over people and governments. But even with a network spreading out across the galaxy like an intricately woven spider's web, the centerpiece was still a singular mortal being who could be quietly and efficiently removed from existence. The first known Broker was usurped by his Yagh servant while the Yagh was overthrown by Liara, albeit with help from some of her friends. Each of these hostile takeovers was implemented without the Shadow Broker network collapsing and with none of the established agents being aware of the transfer of power. This was the intrinsic dilemma with the Shadow Broker idea as a whole—its greatest strength, solitude and secrecy, was also its greatest weakness.

And now her lover was running the infamous information network which consumed so much of her focus and energy that Lakota had only seen her sporadically for short periods of time over the last few days. She fleetingly wondered if the Asari's role had always been this demanding or if she was just noticing now because she wasn't currently engrossed in her duties as an Alliance officer or Council Spectre. Either way, in the solitude of her apartment, the Spectre admitted she was becoming resentful of the time her lover's job necessitated.

Sighing heavily, Lakota took another drink, draining the glass, and holding her breath as the liquid burned a path down her throat settling like molten lava in her empty stomach. Belatedly she remembered that she skipped lunch in favor of quick departure from the medical facility.

Spinning on her heel, she returned to the kitchen and then refilled the glass while debating the merits of ordering food. When she placed the bottle back on the countertop, an unfamiliar chirp rang out in the room. Her eyes scanned the area trying to decipher which appliance had disturbed the silence, then the chirp sounded out again. The odd chime was her new apartment's version of a doorbell. She briefly thought of ignoring it, but knew there was only one person who would already be privy to the location of her living arrangements and who would call on her unannounced. She also knew that person would either stand outside the door indefinitely until she was let in or would hack the security system and let herself in. Lakota smirked at the latter scenario, but thought better of it and walked over to the entryway in order to disable the lock.

The doors swooshed open to find Liara, dressed in her blue and white jumpsuit, waiting nervously in the hallway.

The two women just looked at each other for what could only have been a few seconds, but to Lakota, it felt like an eternity. Finally, she tilted her head and greeted the newcomer. "Hello, Liara."

The researcher appeared flustered by the polite if not somewhat cool greeting. "Shepard, I—"

Without waiting for the Asari to finish her sentence, the Spectre turned abruptly heading toward the entryway to the balcony, trying to stifle the overwhelming hurt and disappointment that surged through her. Seeing Liara at the door to the apartment was just an inconvenient reminder that the Asari had been too busy to be at the hospital when Lakota was discharged or return her calls this afternoon.

The human came to a halt before passing through the threshold that led to the balcony, her eyes staring out across the bay. "Can I get you a drink?" she said, tilting her head slightly, catching the researcher in the corner of her eye while lifting the glass of amber liquid in the air, an indication of what she was offering.

"No, I…" As Liara stepped into the room she took a quick survey of the sparse accommodations and noticed the bottle of whiskey on the counter. She knew her lover enjoyed a glass of beer, wine or even cognac now and again, but had never known her to indulge anything stronger, and she had definitely never witnessed her consume anything alcoholic while taking prescription medicine. Trying to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice, she asked, "When did you start drinking whiskey?"

Lakota bristled at the question. "Just now." Feeling raw in her recent disappointment and the implied recrimination in the Asari's query, she allowed her voice to harden. "Since I was on my own, I decided to try something new."

Cringing internally, Liara lowered her gaze to the floor. The sharp comment confirmed what she had already suspected; her lover was feeling wounded and neglected by her unintended absence today. She took a deep breath and then tried to explain. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you were released. I just got your messages—"

"Don't worry about it," the Spectre said curtly, interrupting the Asari's apology. Her free hand made a dismissive gesture in the air, but her eyes never broke away from the seascape.

With a deliberately slow gait, Liara glided across the room to stand a step behind her lover, wanting to offer comfort, but being careful not to invade her personal space. "What happened with Javik?"

A shadow briefly passed across the Lakota's face like a storm cloud skimming across windswept plains of desert sand. Her surprise only lasted a moment, then she put two and two together and speculated on what must have happened. "Garrus contacted you."

"Yes," Liara admitted. She could feel the tension radiating off of her lover, but sensing that something larger was amiss, she kept the discreet distance between them.

Lakota frowned, pursing her lips as she bit back the cutting remark that flashed in her mind. Liara responded to a message from Garrus, but didn't have the time to acknowledge the ones from her. To temper the sting of another letdown blossoming in her chest, she took a small sip of the somewhat caustic liquid swirling in her glass. "He tried to touch me," she said, answering the initial question.

"He what?"

"Javik offered to help me regain my memory." Lakota turned, flashing the Asari with a dark, humorless grin. "I graciously refused."

"If that's you being gracious, I'd hate to see you be rude."

The Spectre snorted unceremoniously, then frowned as annoyance pricked at the edge of her awareness. Why was the Asari here now, questioning her, reprimanding her for Javik's misconduct? What the hell did she want?

"Shepard…" Liara stepped forward her right hand brushing across Lakota's cheek before her fingers gently ran through the silken strands of black hair. "What's wrong?"

Lakota forced herself not to flinch at the Asari's touch. The acerbic memory of her confrontation with the Prothean caused her breathing to be shallow and rapid, while her current bitter thoughts about Liara's absence over the last few days and motivations in this moment provoked the stiffness in her neck and shoulders. She took another drink from her glass as resentment, directed at the woman next to her, started to build burning its way down her throat along with the harsh taste of the whiskey. Her eyes sparkled in irritation. "Nothing."

Suddenly, with a precision honed from years of deciphering nonverbal queues from the woman standing before her, Liara understood. "You remember what happened. That's why you refused his help."

Lakota's whole body tensed, her silence an affirmation all its own.

Stunned by the idea that her lover had regained her memories, Liara instinctively reached out again, gently resting a supportive hand on the human's shoulder. Then her eyes widened at the larger implication of just finding out about this event now. "How long?"

"Does it matter?" the Spectre growled, her tone low and surly.

"Yes," the Asari said hotly, "it does."

Taking another sip from her glass, Lakota stated, "A few days."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Liara's voice was barely above a whisper and her tone held more compassion than accusation.

The Spectre narrowed her eyes, harshly barking back, "Maybe I don't _want _to remember!"

Liara recoiled, inadvertently dropping her hand to her side and retreating as though she had been physically assaulted. "Shepard," she said, in a calm modulated tone, "your actions ended the Reapers. Whatever you did saved us all."

In an instant, like a spark let loose on dry grass, the fury that Lakota had sought desperately to contain ignited and slipped from her tenuous control, targeting the woman next to her. "So you're saying that the end justifies the means? You're saying that whatever sacrifices I had to make would be an acceptable price to pay!"

The researcher blinked rapidly, stunned by the intensity of her lover's response. "That's not what I'm saying at all!"

"That's sure as hell what it sounds like!"

On some level Liara knew arguing would be detrimental, but on another level, she didn't care. Lakota had been quiet and withdrawn since waking up in the hospital which had been difficult to reconcile after almost losing her, but Liara had given her lover the benefit of the doubt assuming she was still struggling with muddled and chaotic memories from her ordeal. The fact that she had to force Lakota into a corner before she would admit the truth, that her memory returned days ago, was even more upsetting. During the most difficult and trying moments of their relationship, open and honest communication had always been a priority for both of them. The trust and faith that they had in each other is what carried them through their reconciliation and the bumps they incurred afterwards. Where was that trust and faith now?

Frustrated and hurt by her lover's continued silence and denial, Liara gave free reign to the part of herself that wanted answers. "I don't even know _what_ happened, let alone what preceded it. You won't tell me! All I know is that the Reapers are gone."

"Yes, they're gone and now everyone is so damn happy."

Barely containing her exasperation, the researcher demanded, "And what's the problem with that? They're no longer fighting for their lives! Their home worlds are no longer being systematically destroyed! Why shouldn't they be happy?"

"Because it doesn't end there," Lakota snarled, as she began to pace the room, irritation radiating off her in palpable waves. "There's always something else to fight!"

"Not this time, Shepard."

The Spectre abruptly swung around, facing the Asari in an accusatory stance. "Don't be so naïve, Liara, it no longer suits you."

"You want the reports?" Liara spat back. "I've got plenty of them and they all say the same thing! The Reapers are gone!"

"For now, but when the next monster comes into view, you know what they'll say? Send Shepard, she's the killer of monsters."

"That's not true!"

"Sure it is! Even you've done it!"

Reeling from the sting of that comment, the Asari shot back, "Shepard, that's not fair."

"Fair? Fair?! When the hell did fairness enter into this?" The Spectre's arms were now adamantly punctuating every statement as her outrage became more apparent. "Was it fair that Urdnot company was slaughtered so the Rachni queen could escape? Was it fair that Admiral Koris' team was left behind so the Admiral could be saved? Was it fair that no one paid attention to those who died in pursuit of the objective? Oh wait… no… they're just collateral damage. No harm done."

"Listen to yourself. You're not making any sense."

"Of course I'm making sense!" Lakota snapped. "You're just not listening!"

"And you're being paranoid," the researcher parried.

"Is it paranoid to prepare for the future?"

Liara shook her head in disbelief as the argument took on a life of its own. "It's paranoid when the only monster is the one you conjure in your head."

The Spectre took two steps so she was standing directly in front of the Asari, green eyes ablaze in an unnatural light. "I'm not conjuring this in my head, Liara, I'm spouting history! Saren and Sovereign show up. Shepard kills them. The Collectors become a threat. Shepard kills them. The Reapers arrive. And guess what, Shepard kills them, too. But you know what nobody ever talks about… all of those innocents who die because they are in Shepard's way."

"Shepard—"

"The people inhabiting Virmire, did they deserve to have their planet polluted by a nuclear weapon?"

"That was unfortunate, but Saren's cloned krogan army—"

"The three hundred thousand batarian colonists at the Alpha Relay then," the Spectre declared, her voice rising in both intensity and volume. "Did they rejoice in their death?"

"The Reapers were on our doorstep. The Alpha Relay had to be—"

"Do you know how many people I've killed over the years? Do you have _any_ idea? I could be one of the greatest mass murderers in history, but instead of locking me up, they pinned medals on me!"

"Is_ that _what this is all about? Guilt?"

"Guilt? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You tell me! You're the self-proclaimed murderer!"

The Spectre sneered. "Aw… that's priceless. _Thank you,_ Dr. T'Soni. By the way," she spat sarcastically, "do you have any terminals that you need me to hack? Or better yet, can I knock off the head of some covert organization so you can take it over?"

Liara felt her anger rising to a new level as the conversation teetered out of control. Forcibly, she took a deep breath while consciously trying to calm herself before replying. "What has gotten into you?" Her voice was perceptively softer, more composed, and the question was one of genuine concern.

"Me?" Lakota snarled, draining the last of the amber liquid from the glass in her hand. "Nothing. I'm no different than I was when I ran with the Reds!"

"Shepard, that's not true." The Asari maintained her sedate, even tone, trying to soothe her lover's mood with a less combative presence. "You were a child then. You left that life to become a soldier. The things you've had to do… We were at war."

"That's exactly my point!" the Spectre shot back, her fury nowhere near satiated or appeased. "We were at war! We are _always_ _at war_!"

"Not anymore, Shepard. The war is over. The Reapers are gone. You've done nothing wrong."

"BULLSHIT!" Anger snapping, Lakota threw the empty glass across the room where it connected with the wall shattering into a hundred pieces. Then she turned slowly, glaring at Liara with piercing green eyes that seemed luminous with rage. "I've done plenty wrong."

Startled by the violent display, the researcher immediately rethought her approach and attempted to explain her own confusion to the woman next to her. "Lakota," she began, deliberately using her lover's first name to emphasize her concern, "I don't know what has brought this mood on or why we are arguing. I don't even know what you think you've done wrong…" She softened her voice, purposely allowing it to trail off into a question.

She waited, hoping that the Spectre would answer, but her lover remained silent, breathing heavily with a dark, unreadable emotion dancing within her eyes.

"Shepard," she said, trying once again to urge her lover to share her burden, "without knowing what's wrong, I can't help."

"Fine," Lakota stated flatly, her tone cold and remote as the deepest reaches of space, "if that's the way you feel, then leave."

"Shepard...?" Liara was even more confused than before. She hadn't expected to be shut out and turned away.

The Spectre fixed the Asari with a callous stare, then leaving no room for doubt, she demanded, "Leave."

"I'm not going any—"

"Liara—"

"No, I'm not—"

It took two long strides before the Spectre stood in front of Liara, her body shaking with uncontrollably with rage. "Leave. This. Place." Then, her right hand swung wildly, smashing into the metal wall next to the Asari's head making fist-sized indentation.

Liara flinched involuntarily as shock and alarm mingled in her deep blue eyes. She studied the human woman in front of her who had never before acted out in anger with her, yet tonight had succumbed to it twice. "Shepard…" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lakota froze. Her body was completely rigid as she held her breath, her fixed stare scrutinizing the hand imbedded in the wall uncomprehendingly as though it didn't belong to her. Then slowly and with great care, she stepped backward putting a few feet between her and the Asari as her arms fell to the side. She began to tremble, but not in irritation as before, this was born from the slow burn of shame and regret. When her head finally rose and their gazes met, Liara noticed that the luminous shade of green had been replaced by a much paler version.

An eerie calm filled the room as the two women stared at each other, neither saying a word nor making a move. The genuine concern and distress of the Asari was a stark contrast to the shame and agitation of the Spectre and the disparate emotions seemed to collide in a harsh reality filling the room with an uncomfortable, prickly sensation. When Lakota could no longer endure the candid anguish and look of dismay on her lover's face, her eyes fell to the floor.

"Liara, I'm…." The Spectre shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, her headache making itself known with a vengeance.

"Shepard."

"Please," Lakota said through clenched teeth, "I think it's best if you just leave."

"But—"

"Go. Now."

Silently, the Asari stared at her lover with an unmistakable expression of hurt and confusion etched into her furrowed brows and pressed lips. She tilted her head to the side as though trying to decipher the command that was given, then suddenly her shoulders dropped in defeat and with eyes shimmering in unshed tears she turned, walking out the door.

After securing the lock, Lakota spun around looking at the room with unseeing eyes, then without a sound, she walked over to the couch and feeling as though her world had just imploded, she sat down. Her heart beat painfully in her chest while her breath came in short, shallow intakes. Drawing her legs up onto the cushion, she wrapped her arms around them, hugging her knees in a suffocating grip then slowly began to rock back and forth. She stared blankly into the dim illumination, ignoring the pounding in her head, trying not to exist beyond the moment, knowing that if she did she would lose herself.

She felt empty and alone and as time passed, the hollow inside her chest seem to grow, to encompass all she was. She couldn't speak, her throat was hot and tight, and eventually her vision became blurred by wetness as her body was racked by powerful, inconsolable sobs.

How would she ever be able to explain to Liara that sometimes when you win, you lose?


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note:

Real life once again took me hostage, hence the long delay between updates, but I finally managed to free myself from its shackles and put pen to paper, so to speak.

Thank you for reading; thank you for following; and thank you for leaving feedback. You may not be aware of this, but knowing someone is interested in the tale being told has the ability to galvanize and motivate even when free time becomes a limited resource.

Thanks again! I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 12

Stepping through the threshold of Shepard's apartment and walking down the long, lonely hallway toward the elevator without casting a backward glance was the most difficult thing Liara T'Soni had ever done in her life. There were other moments that had been more harrowing. Witnessing the death of her mother in the cold, sterile lab on Noveria, watching the Reapers methodically exterminate everything on the surface of Thessia, her home world, and observing the destruction of the Normandy SR-1—subsequently being witness to the death of the first person she came to love. In those moments, just as this one, she felt helpless to stop the event from occurring, but what set this moment beyond the reach of the others was the fact that she felt she _should_ have been able to do something to prevent the tragedy from spiraling to its final conclusion. She should have been able to find the right words to say to get past Shepard's defenses. She should have found a way to stay in the apartment and continue the discussion. She should have been able to figure out what was really troubling her lover.

As the elevator took her to the lobby on the main floor, her mind replayed their argument and the explosive display. How had their discussion even escalated to that level? She didn't want to place all the blame on Shepard because it takes two to sustain an argument, but something odd was definitely in the mix. Shepard's volatile reaction to her absence felt leaps and bounds beyond the normal, and while she acknowledged her own part in the clandestine conversation, she couldn't help but feel the cards had been stacked against her before she even entered the room. Shepard had been looking for a fight.

Of course Liara had no proof that her hunch was correct, and honestly, she wasn't too concerned with confirming her suspicions. She was more concerned with why Shepard had been looking for a fight. Why Shepard suddenly wanted nothing to do with her and seemed determined to make her leave the apartment. Yes, to her own dismay, she had gotten wrapped up in Shadow Broker business and missed Shepard's release from the hospital. The emergency was unforeseen—an accident with the Omega-2 Relay causing heavy casualties in the Sahrabarik system. Liara had spent the day helping organize the rescue and recovery efforts and time had slipped by so quickly in the chaos that before she knew it most of the day had passed her by.

As for missing the messages Shepard had sent, Liara knew she only had herself to blame. She had overtaxed the remote communication node while helping the relief efforts which sent the device into auto-shutdown. Normally, that wouldn't be an issue because all processes should have been automatically rerouted to the secondary node, but during the initial installation she'd been so driven to help the refugees that she had neglected to take the time to properly configure the backup. Even after the primary node was activated, instead of making the secondary system a priority, she had chosen to spend any and all of her free moments in the hospital with Shepard while she recovered from her injuries. So, that afternoon, by the time Liara had had the primary system back up and re-synched to the network, Shepard had left her final message. Liara tried at that time to return her calls, but Shepard's omni-tool had been switched to privacy mode.

As Liara traveled along a pedestrian walking path heading toward her rented loft to regroup and devise a plan of action, her hands vigorously rubbed the length of her arms in an attempt to warm herself. Night had long ago fallen over the city of Wellington and a chilly fog had ridden in from the sea blanketing the lower coastal plain under an eerie haze. She wasn't sure if it was the cool air that sank through the layers of clothing and bit at her skin or if it was the heavy weight of heartache and unease. Shepard had acted out in anger with her twice that evening, something she would never have predicted because the reaction was so out of the Spectre's character. Although shocked by the violent display of having her lover angrily punch the wall next to her, Liara never felt fear for her herself. If anything she felt fear and concern for her lover who was obviously behaving oddly and was visibly agitated about something.

The Asari assumed Shepard's physical and mental distress were tied to her experience with the Catalyst and whatever events unfolded just before the wave of red energy had spread throughout the galaxy. The connection was indisputable even if Shepard was staying silent about what transpired during those moments she was off the grid. The forced admission that she remembered what happened and her adamant refusal to discuss the subject was enough for Liara to be more than just concerned. She was anxious. She needed to figure out how to help her lover, if not directly, then indirectly.

Liara looked up and saw that the moon hung heavily in the sky, waning towards its final stage when just a slight crescent of light could be seen on its left side before the New Moon appeared. Shepard, who had an interest in folklore and myths, once explained the lunar cycles naming each phase and describing their meaning. This was the Balsamic phase, the time to surrender, rest, and release. No more thinking, planning, getting in your own way or action of any kind. Just peace. These final days which ushered in the New Moon were also called the Dark of the Moon because they shed so little light. Symbolically, this suggested that the inner world was more important than the outer world and was supposed to relate to healing and rest, since it was the last phase before the New Moon emerged.

At that very moment, Liara stopped mid-stride as a sense of foreboding washed over her like the chill of an icy wind. She blinked back a flood of tears born from frustration and grief, burying them deep within her, placed rigidly under control so that she could continue to function. She needed some insight into her lover's inner turmoil and although feeling a bit foolish, she looked determinedly into the night sky impulsively wishing for the moon's assistance in illuminating her lover's suffering. Earlier, she told Shepard that if she didn't know what was wrong, she wouldn't be able to help and while that was true, she neglected to add that she desperately wanted to help.

After a few moments, Liara sighed heavily and wrapped her arms around herself in a comforting hug. Still gazing up at the majestic celestial body, a wistful look blanketed her face as she let her thoughts wander. She and Shepard had had their share of arguments in the past, but nothing ever escalated to such a temperamental level. Liara couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew something or some things were warring within her lover and they were slowly wearing down her fortitude and self-control. She knew Shepard hated being or feeling out of control, which is why she also knew something was amiss. Every fiber of her being screamed out that there was something she was missing. Something she was unable to put her finger on or see clearly. She needed a new perspective. She needed to talk to someone who knew Shepard as well as she did or at least knew her in different ways.

With her decision made, Liara abruptly turned around and headed toward a main thoroughfare. Fifteen minutes later, after hailing a cab, she found herself standing in front of an apartment door.

Liara scowled as second thoughts rummaged through her mind. Pulling her shoulders back, she straightening her posture as though physically fortifying her decision, then her hand reached out and rang the buzzer. A few minutes later the door swooshed open revealing its inhabitant.

"Dr. T'Soni…?"

Taking a deep breath, Liara consciously swallowed her pride. "Ms. Lawson," she said, stuttering slightly over the greeting as the rest of her words died upon her lips. This was going to be more difficult than she anticipated.

Miranda leaned against the door frame. "It's late," she replied, not unkindly. When the Asari remained silent, fidgeting in the hall, the brunette frowned. "Liara, is something wrong? Is Shepard okay?"

Seeing the confused, if not concerned, look upon the former Cerberus officer's face shook Liara out of her reverie. She cleared her throat self-consciously and began again. "Miranda, I-I need your help."

…

The next morning Lakota had awoken to the sun streaming into her living room through the glass door leading to the balcony. Shielding her eyes from the irritatingly bright illumination, she rolled to a seated position on the couch, her bare feet resting on the carpeted floor. She stretched her arms over her head in order to loosen the kinked muscles in her shoulders. Still feeling uncomfortable in her newly assigned quarters, she couldn't bring herself to sleep in the bed, so she had stayed on the couch long after her tears had dried and eventually, she had fallen into a restless slumber.

Fingertips gently rubbed her itchy, dry eyes as she assessed her body's state of disarray. Her muscles ached from the workout of the previous morning, her eyes were swollen from the tears she had shed, an excruciating pain was pounding through her head, and her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, courtesy of the amber drink she'd consumed the night before. At that moment, she vowed to never again drink whiskey on an empty stomach.

Rising from the couch, she headed towards the kitchen to get a bottle of filtered water and replenish some of the fluids her body cried out for. With eyes still bleary from the early stages of wakefulness, the Spectre didn't notice the danger she was heading towards until she felt a sharp pain, like a pin prick, on the bottom of her right foot. Immediately she stopped, looked down and saw the issue- small shards of broken glass lay strewn on the floor. Memories from the night before flooded her mind—the anger, the resentment, throwing the empty glass, watching it shatter as it hit the wall, seeing Liara's alarmed reaction…

A tightness seized Lakota's chest at the vivid recollection of her lover's frightened appearance.

With bitter regret, she tried to push the distressing images of Liara out of her mind. In her head, she could clearly see the Asari's unveiled blue eyes staring at her with an unmistakable expression of hurt and confusion, the shock as she witnessed the Spectre's unprecedented violent display and the look of defeat as she walked out of the apartment. Lakota was sickened by her own actions. She had felt possessed, driven even, to remove Liara from her presence, but she never imagined her aggravation and frustration would escalate to a physical manifestation. She had lost control and lashed out in anger. Now there was only the humiliation that left a debilitating weakness in its wake, and a sense of shame that bit deep at her psyche. Her reprehensible demeanor and distasteful actions towards Liara were inexcusable and Lakota didn't know how she could make it up to her or if the Asari would even be able to forgive her at all.

Whether or not she would forgive herself was another matter entirely.

The Spectre shook her head as though trying to clear her thoughts. She couldn't afford to go down that road. Not now, not yet. Since waking in the hospital her mind had felt foggy and her actions felt controlled, as though she were a puppet on a string. The sensation was fleeting most of the time but always lingering in the back of her head and always a source of irritation when she was able to focus on it. Her memories of the Catalyst, the Citadel, and the choices she was given also plagued her thoughts to the point of distraction which wasn't productive if she was ever going to figure out a viable plan of action.

Before Lakota would be comfortable making her next move, she needed her head to be clear and her emotions to be in check. Her hot-headed temper, something she usually had a tight rein on, had gotten the best of her creating a bloody mess of things with both Javik and Liara. So, until they were back under tight control she wasn't intending to make any more impetuous moves. That meant not seeking out Liara or apologizing for her brazen behavior until after she regained full mastery of herself. The only way she knew to do that was to ground herself and get in touch with the inner peace, the steadiness that she knew existed within which was independent of external circumstances. Various meditation techniques could help her attain the state of inner stillness she was seeking, but because she felt so out of sync with her center, she knew she required additional counsel. She needed to talk to someone who would intrinsically understand her issues and her inner dilemma. Someone she trusted impeccably and who would have the wisdom to guide her. Someone who had experienced their own personal hell and survived.

Lakota took a moment to pick the small glass shard out of her foot. The cut was minor and would heal on its own without any additional attention. Then, she grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and headed toward the master bath, which was just off the main bedroom. After showering, she pulled her long, dark hair back into a pony-tail, then found some clean clothes and dressed quickly, donning a pair of navy blue cargo pants with a matching blue and grey short sleeved top and Marine issue black boots. The pants were snug enough to accentuate her athletic legs while the shirt was loose enough to give a hint of sensuality beneath its surface. Although Lieutenant Calibri made sure the apartment was fully stocked, each piece of clothing was new and military issue so there was a stiffness in them that could only be worked out by being worn and laundered many times.

Lakota briefly wondered how the Lieutenant knew what size she wore, and then sardonically assumed there was probably a notation with all her specific measurements somewhere in her personal file.

After securing the apartment, Lakota used her omni-tool much like a GPS to locate her friend whose omni-tool was also active, and then hailed a cab as she rode the elevator down to the main floor. Twenty minutes later, she was walking through the Wellington Botanical Gardens toward a circular pond near the center of the twenty-five acre historical landmark. From ancient to colorful flowerbeds, the garden pathways winding throughout the grounds were beautifully complimented with unique landscapes and floral displays while also boasting a great view of the city and harbor. The pond itself was edged on one side by a semi-circular promenade with good bench seating. The other side was flanked by vibrant bushes and tall native and exotic trees.

She found her friend sitting on the ground underneath an old twisting magnolia tree, the mid-morning sunlight magnificently showcasing its large upswept pink-and-white blossoms. The fragrance from the striking blooms, creamy sweet with a light citrus nuance, added to the serene nature of the already tranquil environment. The regal woman was in her customary meditation pose—a yoga style lotus position—as violet biotic tendrils danced along her blue-hued skin.

"Samara," Lakota said softly, not wanting to startle the Asari. The Matriarch was dressed in her custom made burgundy armor that was perfectly molded to every contour and curve of her lissome body, and blessed with a neckline that bordered on racy. Smiling inside, Lakota wondered not for the first time if Asari cleavage was considered a defensive weapon.

The Justicar opened her eyes, contemplating the Spectre momentarily before letting her biotics fade away. She was a radiant woman, statuesque, with multi-hued blue skin and delicate freckles that traced down from her temple and fading away along the slant of high cheek bones. Although beautiful, her grace and elegance were matched easily by the tenacious lethality in which she dispensed Asari justice. "Shepard," she said, tilting her head in the human's direction, "this is an unexpected surprise."

"Hopefully, not unwelcome."

"Your company is always pleasing, unless of course you're engaged in one of your mischievous undertakings."

Lakota chuckled, waving both hands in front of her defensively. "No practical jokes, not today anyway."

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Samara's lips. "That is undoubtedly most fortunate for me."

"May I join you?" Lakota asked, formally.

Dipping her head in affirmation, the Justicar said, "Of course."

While traveling together on the Normandy SR-2, Lakota had found solace in the company of the Justicar as they spoke of their individual journeys, discussed philosophy and spent time meditating together. Since her childhood, meditation had been a way for the Spectre to manage stress, which in turn enhanced her overall physical health and emotional well-being. On a deeper level, it added to the quality of her life by teaching her to be fully alert, aware, and alive. After waking up in the Cerberus lab and discovering two years had passed, meditating became an exercise that lay frustratingly out of her grasp. Her mind, too cluttered with thoughts and emotions of the past, present and future was unable to attain the state of 'thoughtless awareness' regardless of the technique or how much time she devoted to the exercise. Then, the Justicar joined her squad and invited Lakota to participate in a meditative exchange. From that successful endeavor bloomed a series of mutually restorative and revealing experiences that served to strengthen their bond of friendship more profoundly than camaraderie could on its own.

Just as on the Normandy, Lakota took her usual position, sitting on the ground, facing the Justicar and mimicking her resting pose.

After watching the Spectre get settled on the spongy, green grass, Samara said, "Something troubles you."

"That obvious, eh?"

"Only to one who knows you well."

"Touché."

"What concerns you, my friend?"

Lakota's heart started to pound. She wasn't prepared to talk about what happened on the Citadel with anyone—let alone Samara. What the hell was she thinking when she sought out the Justicar? "How is it that you're still here?" she asked, deflecting the question with one of her own. Stalling for a few more moments might give her enough time to steel her courage. "I thought you'd be with Falere by now."

Samara tilted her head, knowing the Commander purposely avoided her inquiry, but allowed the conversation to be segued without a fight just the same. "I have been in contact with my daughter and she is well. I will make the journey to Lesuss sometime in the future, but for now, I sense I can be of more service here than there."

Nodding in understanding, Lakota commented, "Seems there's a lot of that going around. Garrus, Tali and Kasumi are staying planet-side for another week or so. Jack and Kaidan are on leave until they get their new orders from the Alliance. Of course you know that Chakwas and Miranda have been assigned to watch over my recovery, which is nothing more than a glorified babysitting detail, if you ask me." The Spectre rolled her eyes, an outward expression of her mild but rapidly growing annoyance. She truly despised having her every action monitored but knew that was exactly what was happening and there was very little she could do about it for the time being. In fact, she assumed the Alliance had agents watching her now and had identified three possible suspects while traveling to the gardens.

The Justicar smiled softly as the Spectre's eyes glazed over, her mind clearly engaged on an inner dialogue. "What of the rest of the Normandy crew?"

Lakota was immediately shaken out of her reverie by the Asari's inquiry. Despite the fact that she had sought out the Justicar with a specific purpose in mind, she felt an intrinsic need to ease into the subject matter and conversing about their friends was one of the safest topics to begin with. Also, one of the least controversial. "Most of the Alliance personnel have been dispatched to other ships while the Normandy undergoes repairs. Cortez, Vega, Traynor and Joker all volunteered for the assignment. It's a nice setup. They get to shuttle down to the planet on their days off."

"And Javik?"

Lakota coughed, flashing a sheepish smile as her right hand self-consciously rubbed the back of her neck. "You know," she said awkwardly, "I'm not sure. We haven't had that much conversation."

"But you've spoken with him."

"Yes." To Lakota, the inflection in Samara's voice hinted at knowing more than her words revealed, but then again she was a Justicar with centuries of experience tracking down criminals and rooting out the truth with minimal effort, so maybe she was just fishing for information out of habit. Regardless, the Spectre erred on the side of caution and remained silent about her confrontation with the Prothean a day earlier.

The Asari's scrutinizing eyes narrowed perceptively, as though trying to see through a shadowy veil. "Shepard," she began, "your aura is troubled. You feel conflicted about something."

Lakota opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. While true, she didn't know how to reply to such a bold, accurate statement.

"Shall I haphazardly guess what troubles plague your mind or will you tell me on your own?" Samara asked, in a soothing almost lyrical tone that held just hint of teasing. When Lakota failed to answer, the Justicar followed her instincts and gently coaxed the conversation forward. "I noticed you mentioned nothing of Dr. T'Soni… or of EDI."

The Spectre stared at the Justicar, jaw slightly open, in a dumbstruck haze. She should have known the Asari would hit the nail on the head without any guidance from her. That was part of the reason she liked Samara so much. Whether it was the Justicar's long years of service or just a natural gift, she was exceptionally perceptive.

Chuckling ruefully, Lakota said, "What I wouldn't give for a few husks about now. Anything for a little distraction. Strange as it sounds, I almost long for the days back on the Normandy when we were trying to figure out what happened to the human colonists. Jumping from one lead to the next and from one battle to another, recruiting help along the way. No time to stop and think about what it all meant, the big picture, or ruminate on past choices."

Blue eyes, almost translucent, pinned the human like an insect in a spider's web. "You are troubled about choices you've made." It was a statement, not a question.

"When it comes to the Reapers, I've made some poor ones along the way."

"We were all faced with choices, Shepard. In the end, the most important choice presented to us was whether to fight or submit. We all chose to fight."

Lakota exhaled audibly, clearly not agreeing with the assessment. "But in the end it was** I** who chose to destroy the Reapers. **I **made that choice for everyone. And the Geth suffered."

"Shepard, you ended the Reaper massacre and while many Geth perished when the red wave descended, their race yet survives. You cannot blame yourself for their casualties just as you cannot blame yourself for the fall of Thessia. While tragic, the blame resides solely with the Reapers. Their actions precipitated the tragedy. The alternative, to submit, would have been far worse."

"Those are the very same words I told myself when I made the choice. But then I woke up in a hospital bed with nothing to do but think and I started to realize how empty they sounded." The Spectre scowled, a deep frown etching in her features. "By making the choice for everyone, force feeding the outcome down their throats, I feel like I've become the enemy… the monster we've all been fighting."

Lakota raised a hand to halt the reply she saw on the Asari's lips. "Samara, I know things seem like they turned out well, the Reapers are gone, the races survived, the Mass Relay system is still intact, but I'm telling you, something is not right. This wasn't how it was supposed to play out."

Samara sighed softly, as if knowing how difficult this conversation was for the human. "The Reapers have been defeated, so if you are still troubled, clearly it is because of some other outcome."

Nodding her head in agreement, the Spectre whispered, "True."

It wasn't what Lakota had intended to do, but the Asari had her pinned with one of those looks that conveyed the depth of her near-thousand years of great wisdom, and before she knew it, she was explaining everything about the beam, the Catalyst, the Crucible, the choices she was given and ultimately the choice she made. She held nothing back, not the fact that the Geth were suppose to die, that EDI was suppose to die and how she was supposed to perish in the destruction as well. When she was through, the Justicar shook her head thoughtfully, but remained silent as though contemplating the implications of the story.

Shifting her weight slightly, Lakota readjusted her crossed legs, alleviating the growing sensation of pins and needles that had begun to spread through her lower extremities. Still recovering from her injuries, her body wasn't use to being immobilized in a constrictive position for such a long period of time. After settling back into a more comfortable pose, she cleared her throat, hesitantly asking, "Do you remember our last conversation, the last thing you said to me before the final battle?"

Samara nodded and then repeated those words to the woman sitting across from her. "Only your actions will be remembered. May you choose them well."

A wistful smile graced the Spectre's lips as she tilted her head towards the sky and closed her eyes. Breathing in deeply, she noted the sweet scent of magnolia blooms mingling with the salt air rolling in from the sea. "I don't know if I chose well."

Lifting a brow, as if surprised, Samara asked, "What does this have to do with EDI?"

"In the Alliance, I'm considered an Infiltrator, an assassin of sorts and viewed as one who can terminate a life-form, up close or at a distance, without hesitation or regret. As a Spectre, I've been entrusted with extraordinary authority, even the power to grant life or dispense death without fear of rebuttal, in order to fulfill my duty which is doing whatever is needed to preserve galactic stability." Lakota tone was neither cutting nor cruel, just a matter-of-fact nonchalance as though reading from a technical manual. "Over the years, both careers being considered, I have ended many lives… directly and indirectly."

Samara considered the Commander's words, but remained silent, knowing she had more to say.

Taking a slow, measured breath, Lakota continued. "It's not the massive amounts of casualties that weigh down on me the most, it's the individual deaths. And not the lives I've taken, either. It's the ones that were lost to me. Thane, Jacob, Legion, Ashley, Mordin… There are others, of course, but those deaths were… are… the most difficult for me to reconcile… the most raw, the heaviest to bear. Still, I managed to forge ahead, to continue the good fight." Moody green eyes locked onto serene blue in uncompromising honesty. "Until now, that is. Turns out that the one death I can't bear is the one that never happened."

"EDI," the Asari stated, concern etched into her features.

Lakota's shoulders slumped forward. Suddenly, she felt very weary. "Samara, I never knew my mother or father. I have no siblings. I was raised without family."

"Yet in the past you have stated that your crew, those close to you, became your family."

Lakota winced as though she had been struck. "There's an old Earth saying: Blood is thicker than water. It means that the ties of family run deeper than any other kind of relationship. We'll often do things for members of our family we'd never dream of doing for anyone else. In absence of any blood relatives, my ties, my bond to certain members of my crew became just as thick, my devotion just as deep." She looked at the Justicar, eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Tell me," she said, her voice laced with bitterness and venom, "what kind of person is willing to casually murder an innocent family member?"

Unfazed by the question, the Justicar replied, "You were faced with a difficult choice, Shepard, and although your decision was made without outside counsel, it was no more casual than my choice to become a Justicar. The deaths your decision called for were an unfortunate, but also an unavoidable consequence. I, more than anyone, understand this."

"Oh fuck," Lakota said apologetically, her face falling into the palms of her hands, hidden from view. "I'm so sorry, Samara. I'm such an ass. I didn't think. I didn't mean—"

"It's alright, Shepard," the Asari soothed. "I understand your meaning and hold no ill will. After Morinth's death, I told you I was a ruined vessel of sorrow and regret, but that I was free. With Rila's passing, sorrow and regret continue to fill me, but I am still free. And once again it seems, I am in your debt. Your actions at the monastery have given me a second chance with Falere. There are no words which can adequately express my gratitude for that precious gift."

Lakota abruptly lifted her head, studying the Asari keenly. "All that you gave up to become a Justicar, to track down Morinth… Was it worth it?"

"It was never a question of worth, but a question of need. I had to take the action I did with Morinth. It was never a story that would have a happy outcome. Just as yours was never going to end without casualties."

Placing her hands on her thighs, Lakota exhaled releasing a tension she hadn't been aware of carrying. "You did your duty, followed The Code, but what about your feelings on the matter?" Although she was asking Samara the questions, Lakota knew that somewhere in her psyche, she was asking the same questions of herself and struggling with the answers.

"That day on Omega, one of my daughters died. Less than a month ago at the monastery, a second daughter perished. My hopes, my dreams have always been bound up in my children and so I am grateful that Falere remains in my life. Still, my feelings have always come after my duty. The same is true of you." Tilting her head inquisitively, Samara redirected the question that was asked of her. "You did your duty, Shepard, but what about your feelings?"

Lakota felt tension pull her shoulders together and feather a small, questing tendril of pain toward the back of her right eye. "EDI was innocent and my decision ended… should have ended her life. But," she admitted hesitantly, "given the same set of circumstances, I know I'd make the same choice."

Shaking her head, the Spectre continued, her voice raw and gravely. "You want to know the real twist in this tragedy? I would have made the same choice regardless of who was supposed to die. It could have just as easily been Garrus instead of EDI. Or Tali." Pinching the bridge of her nose between forefinger and thumb, she whispered, "Even Liara." A sickness burned through her body, from her head down to her toes, as the bitter truth of her confession descended like an oppressive shroud. "What kind of person does that make me?"

"The kind who is willing to put aside their personal feelings to do what is needed," the Justicar replied without hesitation.

"Samara," the Spectre said wistfully, the tone of her voice betraying her regret, "we set out to save the galaxy. And it has been saved… but not for me."

Frowning, the Justicar asked, "What do you mean?"

There was a pause and Samara waited patiently for her friend to respond. It was clear to her that Lakota was struggling with many burdens and finding them difficult to process. The human's personal strife was taking its toll mentally and emotionally, and in time would seep into her physical and spiritual well-being. The Asari was intimately acquainted with such inner dissonance and hoped that by simply talking and listening to Lakota, it would help her navigate the maze of her internal discord.

"Over the course of the war, I started to lose myself. I know that on more than one occasion I fell short of my own values." As though reciting a law of nature, Lakota took a deep breath and doggedly stated, "You don't betray family… Yet, that is exactly what I did. I betrayed EDI and apparently, I am willing to betray anyone who is close to me." Then her shoulders sagged in an act that could only be equated to an all-consuming defeat. "If I had died, this would be a moot point. But I survived and so did EDI, so now whenever I see her I am reminded that I would sacrifice her with no more than a backward glance."

"I hardly think that is a fair or accurate assessment," the Justicar said, knowing the Spectre's words were generated by guilt and remorse which were still fresh and raw.

Lakota shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to argue the point. "Sometimes," she confessed, "it seems easier to fight for our principles than live up to them."

"It's never easy," Samara affirmed as she studied the human's expression, "but if we turn our backs on our principles, our Code, we stop being ourselves." Gently, she added, "I believe you may be confusing your principles with your values."

"You see them as different?"

The Asari titled her head in affirmation. "I believe principles are immovable truths. They are ingrained within the very core of one's being and govern all action. Your unwavering determination to stop the Reapers was bound in your principles. I see values as things, ideas, beliefs that come from interaction with others; from past experiences. They are important to the bearer, but are mutable as new experiences unfold."

Lakota sighed softly and nodded, collecting her thoughts. Instead of giving an example of a value, the Justicar left it ambiguous which somehow made her message more significant. The Asari believed that her internal struggle regarding EDI was based on mutable values, not staunch principles.

_Maybe Samara is right, _the Spectre thought. As she continued to brood, a prickly sensation slipped down Lakota's spine finding its way to the pit of her stomach and then settled in like a block of cold concrete. "You once told me if I ever made you do something dishonorable that you would kill me when you were released from your oath."

To any other who overheard the conversation and picked up on the innuendo woven within the Spectre's statement, they may have misinterpreted its meaning. But the Justicar, who had shared more than just blood and sweat and pain with the woman before her, knew exactly what her friend was asking.

"Shepard…" Samara's even gaze was infinitely compassionate, "what you seek is not within my power to give."

Deflated, Lakota's chin sank to her chest, the dull throbbing in her head becoming more prevalent. "I know."

"Only you have the power to forgive yourself."

"That sounds like some self-help infomercial mumbo jumbo," the Spectre remarked blandly, a wan smile quirking at the corner of her mouth. "Don't think that's going to happen any time soon, though."

Samara wanted to offer her friend support, but knew that right now emotional overtures would be dismissed as irrelevant. So instead, she took a more rational approach. "It's right that one should stand by and act on their values, but it's not right to hold those values in obstinate blindness or retain them when proved to be erroneous."

The Spectre frowned, the wry humor dissipating from her features, leaving them blank. "So you think I am being erroneous?"

"That's not for me to judge. Only you can be an honest witness to your actions…"

"But…?"

The Justicar raised her eyebrow inquisitively. "But?"

Lakota blinked. "It sounded as though there was a 'but' in there."

Shaking her head almost imperceptibly, Samara contemplated the oddity of how in less than two years the Spectre had come to know her better than relationships that had lasted centuries, friends and lovers alike. "But…," she said, "by following The Code, I have found that my values serve as a guiding force and provide a sense of direction while my principles serve as an anchor to which my values are bound. When conflict arises and my values are in question, my principles light the way."

The Spectre's face fell into the palms of her hands, her fingers gently rubbing her closed eyes. After a moment, she lifted her head and looked directly into the Justicar's eyes. "I still feel that I failed in my duty. I failed my friends..." Exhaling heavily, Lakota finally whispered what lay at the heart of her despair. "That I failed myself."

"There is no need for self-recriminations, Shepard."

"Actually, there is," the Spectre said sardonically, her aching head falling once again into her hands. Although talking with Samara was an immeasurable boon, she was still unwilling or unable to forgive herself. Not yet. Maybe never.

"You are an honest individual," the Asari stated firmly. "That is something we share, so let me be honest now and remind you of a truth that you seem to have forgotten. Or are neglecting." Samara reached out and touched the Spectre's chin with her fingertips, urging her head up gently so that she was looking directly into that stormy gaze. "There can be no victory without suffering. No freedom without sacrifice."

Lakota held the look for a long time, her eyes searching Samara's face. The Asari maintained her serious expression, knowing how important it was that the Spectre be reminded that she wasn't alone, that people who cared about her, who accepted her unconditionally, were standing as close as she would allow. Finally, the Spectre inhaled deeply, letting the Justicar's words sink in as her expression eased and the fine lines around her eyes smoothed out. She didn't know how she was going to come to terms with the choices she made, but for the moment, she was willing to concede that such an undertaking wouldn't produce immediate results. Inner peace would take time.

With some effort, she ignored the pounding in her head and concentrated on eliminating the troubles from her mind. Letting go of these worries and concerns didn't mean she would avoid them, rather it would allow her to pick them back up at her own convenience, when she felt that she had the tools and determination to resolve them. So instead of focusing on the regret, guilt, shame and disappointment she felt, she concentrated on the serenity of the landscape, the friendship that was freely given and the knowledge that since she was alive, she still had a chance to make things right. Surprisingly, with each passing moment, as she released her concerns and worries, a weight seemed to lift from her shoulders and the dull ache behind her eyes began to recede.

Since leaving Earth those many months ago, Lakota couldn't recall a time when she felt more at peace. Questions about what really happened with the Catalyst and the Reapers still needed to be answered, but they could be put to the side for now. There was much that she still had to settle within herself and resolve with Liara, but in this moment she felt like she finally had the fortitude to see things through to the end. She felt as though both of her feet were placed firmly on the ground.

"This reminds me of our talks in the Normandy's observation lounge," Lakota said wistfully, but meaning every word. "I've missed them."

Samara tilted her head slightly, looking at the Spectre with the slightest smile on her lips. "I also enjoyed our talks. Very much." Reflecting on everything that had been revealed this afternoon, she added, "I think that you are remarkable, Shepard."

Managing a bemused grin, Lakota replied, "Likewise, Samara." She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and turning her head toward the pond, watched as a pair of ducks drifted lazily upon the water. Deep contentment blossomed in her chest at the tranquil sight. "So, what now?"

"I am content as we are Shepard. Let us sit a little longer."

The Spectre nodded as they fell into a companionable silence, enjoying the lush, vibrant surroundings and temperate weather. She closed her eyes …

_Vengeful winds howled across the desolate plains and a thundering roar sounded above as a ship of unfamiliar design careened across the blood red sky. Then, without warning the heavens were torn asunder with ships of various sizes and shapes, none of which were recognizable. They did battle, flying in every direction as mad dashes of orange energy streaked from horizon to horizon. Destruction rained down in every direction, smoke and ash rose choking any remaining pockets of clear sky while a coldness almost beyond bearing swept through, sapping the will to fight and endure. A torrent of anger and desperation clung to the very air, heavy and oppressive, suffocating her as the stark alien landscape began to fade from view... _

…It was at that precise moment when Lakota sensed the blissful embrace of death approaching.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note:

Many thanks go out to my beta reader, Lyaksandra, who always keeps cool even when I send multiple revisions.

SAAMI – Systems Alliance Advanced Medical Institute. Sounds like it looks…

* * *

Chapter 13

"What do you mean Shepard is back in the hospital?" Liara sat at a glass-top desk in front of a wall of monitors. She swiveled her chair, her eyes boring into the other occupant in the room.

"Chakwas just contacted me," Miranda replied hastily. "Shepard collapsed and is being transported to SAAMI now." She quickly made a path to the table where her black leather duffel bag lay. Immediately, she began to check its contents then zipped it up.

Liara's eyes followed the former Cerberus officer's every step, never wavering, as though she could pull the answers from the brunette by will alone. "Collapsed?" she finally choked out, alarm woven into every fiber of her being. "What does that mean? Is she okay? What happened?"

Miranda turned to face the Asari, a look of genuine concern reflected in her eyes. "All I know is that Samara was with her."

"Samara?"

"The Justicar called it in."

"But-"

"We won't know anything more until we get there," Miranda stated brusquely. "Get your stuff, we have to leave. Now."

"Of course." Without further hesitation, Liara stood and started to gather a few necessities. "Leave…now…," she mouthed silently, brow furrowed in concentration. Of course Miranda was right, they needed to get to the hospital post haste. Still, something tugged at the back of her mind. A thought just at the edge of her consciousness…

"Liara! Let's go!

"Right behind you."

…

_Dark clouds of smoke and ash filled the orange sky obscuring the twin suns hovering low on the horizon. Their circular shapes, barely seen through the swirling haze, infused a poisonous, blood-red hue within the eerie veil as it drifted menacingly across the desolate landscape. Unwavering and unforgiving, darkness continued to descend and brought with it an ominous, icy chill as the pillage and plunder persisted on this city once filled with splendor and beauty, leaving only broken ruins in its wake. It was a painful reminder of an age that had long since passed, a place that would be forgotten in the annals of time. Lifeless bodies were scattered in every direction, from horizon to horizon, piled together in rotting mountains of flesh, blood and bone, alone and with no one to mourn their passing, no one to bear witness to their extinction. Slowly and with meticulous precision they were being erased from history, so utterly and completely that the lingering residue of their existence would soon be nothing more than a distant memory, an image that would fade with each passing age. As the emptiness and anxiety of oblivion sank in, the bleak vision foretelling and replaying the end of all things whispered no more, leaving only the fear and desperation of feeling as though never having existed at all._

…

Gasping for breath, Lakota opened her eyes and tried to blink away the painfully stark illumination of a medical bay. Her head was throbbing as though it had been pummeled by a Brute. Panic immediately flooded her system, bringing with it all the unpleasantness of an accelerated heart rate, shortness of breath and mild queasiness in the pit of her stomach. Before she lost herself to the chaos, she clamped down on her anxiety, roughly bringing her emotions back under control. A quick assessment revealed that she was lying in a bed, all of her limbs were intact and other than the lingering ache in her cranium, she seemed uninjured. With effort, she tried to remember what happened and could only come up with a memory of speaking with Samara in the botanical garden.

"Shepard!" From across the room where she had been conferring with Miranda, Dr. Karin Chakwas hurried over, a concerned expression on her face. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Lakota said curtly as she eased upright into a sitting position and realized, to her chagrin, that she was dressed in nothing more than a bra, underwear and a thin, short medical gown. Her thoughts aimlessly wandered over the many ways in which the flimsy garment she was wearing lacked humility. A brief glance around revealed the other occupants in the room: Samara and Liara near the far corner, both watching her intently and Miranda standing near diagnostic machines perusing through the data. "If I'd known there was going to be a party I'd have worn my dancing shoes."

Miranda shot a disbelieving look over her shoulder and snorted. "Everyone knows you can't dance, Shepard."

"I bet the truth would surprise you."

"I know I was surprised," Liara said, a coy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she recalled the night she found out the Spectre was in all actuality a very good dancer.

To Lakota, the sound of Liara's voice, calm and soothing, was like a cup of cool water on a blistering hot day. The sense of relief and joy at seeing the Asari was so strong that it almost overwhelmed her, but even though Liara's voice was a balm to her unease, Lakota couldn't bear to look her directly in the eye. The shame she felt regarding her behavior the last time they spoke was still too raw. Mentally, she clamped down on those thoughts, and instead shifted her attention to the immediate concern. "So… can anyone tell me what happened?"

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Miranda turned, assessing the woman on the medbed. The former Cerberus officer was dressed rather uniquely, but no less provocative than usual: skintight black leather pants and a burgundy silk blouse with three-quarter cut sleeves and a generous neckline. The fact that the biotic wore something other than leather was unique. The fact that she wore anything at all made it provocative. "What do you remember, Shepard?"

"Samara and I were talking, then… I had sense of being submerged… or something… I must have passed out."

Still wearing her tailor-made burgundy armor, the Justicar stepped toward the Spectre and filled in the gaps. "You fell unconscious at the gardens," she stated evenly. "I immediately contacted Dr. Chakwas and you were brought to this facility."

Lakota nodded her head, absorbing the information. "Thank you."

"No thanks are required, Shepard," Samara said kindly. "I'm glad to see you awake and responsive."

"Me, too." Raking her fingers through her dark hair, the Spectre asked, "How long have I been out?"

"Three hours," Chakwas replied.

Lakota took a breath and forced herself to straighten, directing her attention solely on the doctor. "So what's the verdict, Doc?" she said with a playfulness she did not feel. "Am I going to live?"

"Yes, you're going to live, Commander," the older woman retorted as she flipped back her shoulder length silver hair. The finely pressed grey and white Alliance uniform gracefully accentuated her slight frame while her slate green eyes radiated a keen intelligence and sharp wit. As she eyed the Spectre skeptically, she passed a small handheld med scanner over her body capturing up-to-date information. "Although at the rate you're going, I'm not sure how long that will last."

The Spectre shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "I figure I'm like a cat with nine lives."

"And how many do you have left to play with now?"

"Hmm… good question. If I'm optimistic, then I have at least three left."

"And if you're not optimistic?"

"One," Lakota said, flashing a wry grin, "give or take."

Chakwas exhaled audibly as Liara bent her head to hide her smile.

"Shepard, it's past time for you to be serious." Miranda's formidable tones echoed through the medbay as she strode briskly toward her. "This is your life we're talking about." The former Cerberus officer's controlled stoic composure was teetering on the edge. She was concerned about the Spectre and to see the seemingly cavalier attitude regarding her own health was maddening.

"I believe it is time for me to take my leave," Samara said coolly, addressing the Spectre. "Shepard, if you need anything, you know how to reach me."

Lakota smiled at the Justicar appreciatively, hoping it conveyed all of her gratitude. "I do. And thank you… for everything. Next time I'll try not to make things so… exciting."

Before she exited the room, Samara turned, a hint of a grin curling at the corner of her mouth. "Don't promise what you can't control, my friend. Excitement seems to follow you wherever you go."

Shaking her head ruefully, the Spectre muttered, "Ain't that the truth." Once the doors closed, Lakota focused her attention back on the two human women. "Okay, what's so important that you scared a Justicar away?"

Miranda and Doctor Chakwas shared an uneasy look.

Lakota rolled her eyes. She'd seen these two pool their resources before while on the Normandy, attempting to coerce some sort of promise from her to get more sleep or eat better or relax more. It wasn't going to work this time. "Oh don't try and bullshit me with _that_ look. You've played that card one too many times."

Miranda hesitated briefly, glancing in Liara's direction. "This is the point in the examination when we ask for privacy."

"Wow," the Spectre said, somewhat incredulously. "You're really going to follow through with the façade right 'til the very end."

Liara met Miranda's gaze and realized that she wasn't joking nor was she attempting to deceive Lakota. The conversation that was about to take place would be significant. As much as she wanted to be present for it, to be updated about the state of her lover's health and offer support if needed, she wasn't sure if Lakota wanted her there. She decided not to risk being too presumptuous. "If you need me, I'll be right outside the door."

The former Cerberus officer nodded. "We'll let you know when we're done."

Lakota held up her hand. "No," she growled, sounding a little harsher than intended, "Liara stays." Turning toward the Asari, she tried to analyze her lover's demeanor and gain some insight as to whether or not she really wanted to leave or was just erring on the side of caution because of lingering insecurities stemming from their argument. When their gazes finally met and green eyes fell into the endless depths of dark blue, a silent understanding was exchanged. There would be a discussion about what had happened between them, but not at this moment. Right now the Spectre's health was the main focus.

As she nervously bit her lower lip, a hesitant expression crossed the Lakota's face, soft and vulnerable. "I'd like you to stay," she whispered. "Please."

Liara looked thoughtfully at her lover, then nodded in silent assent. She stepped next to the medbed, close to the Spectre, but not enough to invade her personal space.

Comforted by the Asari's presence, Lakota inhaled deeply then turned her head toward Miranda. Her eyes were an even shade, midway between green and grey, calm, alert, ready for whatever came her way. Raising a challenging eyebrow, she asked, "So what have you and the Doc been discussing?"

"Your test results," the human biotic replied. "We've been conferring on the best way to handle the situation."

Lakota absorbed that statement. "And what _is_ the situation?"

Chakwas interrupted before Miranda could answer. "First," the older woman said, "how have you been feeling?"

Although she wanted answers, the Spectre trusted the medical doctor completely and knew that the questions being asked were purposeful, so she replied with equal candor. "I've been more tired than normal and my sleep is… restless." Glancing sideways at Liara, she said, "I've also been extremely moody and irritable. And these damn headaches aren't going away. They're getting worse."

"Have you been eating?"

"Probably not as much as I should be," the Spectre admitted. "My appetite is gone, too."

Chakwas didn't look happy but she nodded as though expecting the answers, then glanced back down at the datapad in her hand. "That goes along with the results of your lab tests."

"Which are?"

"Your serotonin levels are lower than expected while your cortisol levels are unusually high."

"Which means what, exactly?" Liara asked, as concern etched into her features. After voicing the question, she glanced down and noticed she was now holding hands with the Spectre. At some point during the conversation, they had reached out to each other, her right hand intertwining with the human's left, subconsciously seeking out comfort and support from the other. Smiling inwardly, she turned her attention back to what the doctor was saying.

"It means that Shepard's neurotransmitters, the chemicals that relay messages from neuron to neuron, are out of balance. Serotonin helps regulate sleep, appetite, and mood and also inhibits pain while cortisol is secreted in times of stress."

Lakota frowned. "So low serotonin levels…?"

"Has been linked to irritability, poor impulse control, decreased appetite..." Chakwas explained with precise efficiency.

"And high cortisol levels…?"

"Agitation and high blood sugar levels."

"And together?" Liara questioned, her brow furrowed as she tried to keep up with the explanations.

"Major depression," the doctor stated soberly. "Brain cells usually produce levels of neurotransmitters that keep senses, learning, movements, and moods running smoothly. But when something comes along and disrupts the balance, the complex systems that accomplish this go awry." Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she added, "In your case, Shepard, if the stress is severe or chronic, cortisol levels can remain excessively elevated. And chronically elevated cortisol is known to induce depression by decreasing serotonin in the brain."

Lakota had followed the doctor's explanation of her medical issues with the precision of a sniper scope. "So my bitchy mood is tied to a chemical imbalance?" Somehow that knowledge eased a bit of the Spectre's tension. Even if it wasn't the exclusive reason for all of her issues, at least there was a logical explanation for her to feel so mentally and emotionally out of control.

"Your bitchy mood is normal," Miranda said sardonically. "Your excessively bitchy mood is a product of the imbalance."

That comment hit a nerve. Narrowing her eyes, Lakota hissed, "You haven't seen me be bitchy yet."

Liara squeezed the Spectre's hand reassuringly, hoping to temper her lover's irritation. "But what provoked the imbalance?" she asked, her thoughts racing with theories of probable cause and effect.

Miranda paused, appearing slightly uncomfortable, her haughty attitude having faded away. "We're still looking into that."

"Bullshit," Lakota snarled. She had spent enough time around both the humans to know when they were trying to circumvent the conversation. "You know something," she challenged hotly. "What is it?"

It was Chakwas who answered. "It's your cybernetics," she said, "they're failing and causing your body's stress response."

The information hit the Spectre like a one ton Krogan and in that moment she was grateful that she was already sitting. No stranger to being in a crisis situation, her mind clicked into automatic, putting together the facts and formulating the logical conclusion. "So my cybernetics fail, which causes stress throughout my body, which increases my cortisol, which then decreases my serotonin, which ultimately makes me cranky."

"In a nutshell, yes," the doctor affirmed grumpily.

"Is that why I passed out?"

"Actually, Commander, no. That was caused by something more basic."

"Like not eating or getting enough bloody rest!" Miranda interjected, sounding accusatory.

Chakwas looked at the Spectre reproachfully, then punched a few commands into the datapad in her hand. "Which is odd since your medical files indicate that while you were here you consumed the proper daily nutritional intake."

Lakota's gaze fell to the floor as she coughed uncomfortably, her right hand rubbing the back of her neck. "Um… yeah…"

"Shepard," Liara said carefully, a suspicion creeping into the back of her mind, "you did eat while you were here, right?"

"What? Of course," the Spectre shot back, sounding defensive. Then, her shoulders dropped slightly as an air of defeat settled in. "But maybe not as much as the files indicate."

The Asari rolled her eyes in admonishment. "Shepard!"

Cringing inwardly, Lakota knew she'd been caught and would have to explain herself. Hesitantly, she said, "I _may_ have… misrepresented my eating habits while here."

Miranda scoffed. "Misrepresented?"

"Would you prefer embellished?" the Spectre countered.

"How about falsified?"

"Overstated?"

"Shepard, there's a reason we monitor what you eat! It's important!

"Then give me something decent to eat, not the nutritionally packed cardboard you pass off as food!"

"That nutritionally packed cardboard is specially formulated! It's to help keep you alive even if you don't give a damn!"

"I give a damn about living, but I also give a damn about enjoying my life! And that includes what I eat!"

"Bloody hell, you are _so_ arrogant!"

Lakota snorted. "You're calling _me_ arrogant? Oh, that's priceless."

Having experienced the legendary arguments between the Spectre and former Cerberus officer on the Normandy, Chakwas decided to interrupt the bickering before it truly became heated. "Enough!" she demanded. "What's done is done." Then, she addressed the Spectre, a hint of a reprimand laced within her words. "I trust you'll take better care of yourself in the future, Commander, now that you know how serious the ramifications can be if you don't."

Looking appropriately scolded, Lakota nodded her head. "Yes. Of course."

"At least you have the decency to look contrite." Miranda couldn't stop herself from getting in the last remark. As much as she admired and respected the Spectre, she was intensely frustrated by her obstinate nature.

"Good," Chakwas said, ignoring the biotic's comment. "Then that is the end of this topic." The tone of her voice made it abundantly clear to everyone in the room that any discussion regarding the Spectre's eating habits were now closed.

Sighing heavily, the Spectre glanced over at Liara who had never witnessed the two strong-willed women quarrel and ended up watching the scene with a detached scientific interest. When the Asari's eyes met hers, Lakota whispered sheepishly, "It did taste like crap…"

Liara rolled her eyes in affectionate amusement, playfully squeezing her lover's hand at the same time. "I'm sure it did."

Smiling softly, Lakota brought her attention back to the new information about her cybernetics giving it some serious consideration. Although it was a bit frightening to think that the implants which helped restore her life were now breaking down, she couldn't help but wonder why she didn't feel more physically depleted.

"But if my cybernetics are failing, why don't I feel worse?" she asked, curiously. "I mean, almost thirty percent of my body is supposed to be linked to a cybernetic enhancement, shouldn't I be experiencing more side effects?"

Raising an imperious eyebrow, Miranda stated, "Human DNA, the human body, is extraordinarily adaptable."

"So basically," Lakota retorted dryly, "you don't know why."

Miranda crossed her arms in front of her chest, a show of both defiance and scorn. "We need to run more tests then we'll know more."

The Spectre rolled her eyes, snorting unceremoniously. "Am I dying?"

Taken aback by the blunt question, the former Cerberus officer stared blankly at the woman.

Lakota repeated her question in a darker tone, exasperation laced within her voice. "Am I dying? Are my organs functioning at a less then optimal level? Has my bone density changed? Or my skin? Am I in any immediate danger of my body shutting down on me?"

Miranda shook her head. "From what we can decipher, no."

"Remarkably, your body appears to be adapting," Chakwas added. "All the test results indicate that the only side effect is the chemical imbalance."

"And the headaches."

"And the headaches," the doctor gently conceded. "With the help of antidepressants your cortisol and serotonin levels will be brought back to normal. That will help you sleep and bring your moods back under control."

"Good," Lakota said, her voice sounding relieved. "Even I was getting depressed by my depression."

She glanced over at Liara, who seemed absorbed in another world. When their gazes met, the Asari flashed her a smile, but Lakota knew it wasn't genuine because it didn't reach her eyes which were a shade of turbulent blue.

Frowning, Lakota turned her attention back to the others in the room. "So how are we going to work this? You give me some pills to take and I keep coming in for check-ups?"

"No way, Shepard." Miranda's tone was adamant. "You need to stay here, so we can run more tests, figure out the full extent of the cybernetic damage to your system. You need to be monitored."

Lakota looked at Miranda blankly, then back at Chakwas, absorbing what she had been told. Scowling, she released her hold on Liara's hand then slipped off the medbed, attempting to stand.

"Shepard! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Miranda snapped, concerned irritation pouring off her in waves.

"I thought it was obvious. I'm leaving."

"Yeah, because that worked out so well the last time."

"I'm not staying, Miranda."

Chakwas stepped closer to the Spectre. "You can't leave."

Tilting her head slightly, Lakota icily stated, "I can do many things, Doc, wholly without your permission. What you need to understand is that I am _not_ staying in this facility."

"This is not a request, Commander."

Although dressed in nothing more than a thin gown, the Spectre was still quite a formidable sight, radiating an authority that demanded respect. Her piercing green eyes narrowed as she regarded Chakwas coldly. When she spoke, her voice hardened perceptibly. "Let me remind you that I am a Council Spectre and not subject to the authority or whims of the Alliance Military _**or **_their medical staff! Now where the hell are my clothes?"

To her credit, Chakwas didn't flinch under the scrutiny of the Spectre's icy gaze. "Shepard," she said, her tone noticeably softer, "we need you to stay. At least until we have a better understanding of what's going on with your cybernetics."

"No. Absolutely, not!" Lakota flared, her eyes dark and stormy. "You said for yourself that the only side effect was my brain's chemical imbalance. Meds will fix that. So no!" The tone in her voice brooked no argument. "My days as a lab rat are over!"

Liara had remained silent, observing the argument from both sides. Now though, she knew she had to intercede before it escalated any further. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she stepped between the Spectre and the doctor, and although her blue eyes locked onto pale green, her words were meant for the others in the room. "Doctor, Miranda… leave us." The Asari's narrowed gaze never left Lakota's face, despite the protests from both the biotic and Chakwas. She stayed their denials with one simple word. "Please."

Neither Liara nor Lakota watched as the other two women left to room. Their eyes were only for one another. After the medbay doors closed, it was Lakota who spoke first.

"Liara…" The Spectre's voice lost its ice-cold hardness as something akin to shame shadowed over her features, but a steely resolve was still embedded in its tone. "I can't stay here. Not overnight."

The experience of waking in a Cerberus lab prematurely with her body not fully healed, and then finding out that she had "died" two years prior, accorded the Spectre with a healthy disdain for medical facilities. She was okay with routine examines, but having to wake up on a medbed was akin to having a recurring nightmare and that was something she wanted to avoid with rabid intensity.

"I know you don't want to," Liara said, sympathetically, "but they're right, even if you don't agree. Even though you think you are fine, something has changed with your cybernetics. For your own safety, you can't be left alone. Until they figure out what's going on, someone needs to be with you."

Lakota did not reply, instead a look of resignation passed across her face as she sighed heavily. She knew Liara was right, the failing cybernetics needed to be monitored, but she still couldn't convince herself that staying in the medical facility was the only option. There had to be another way that was just as viable.

"So…," Liara began cryptically, "you can either come with me or stay here under constant surveillance."

The Spectre studied the Asari intently. "Where's my third option?" she teased.

"There is no third option."

"But then you're not really offering me any real choice. You _know_ how much I hate hospitals."

Nodding agreeably, Liara said, "Yes, I do. And I know you'd do just about anything to get out of here."

"So you admit that you're coercing me."

"I prefer to think of it as getting my way."

"Who taught you how to negotiate?" Lakota asked, feeling outmaneuvered.

Smiling slightly, Liara replied. "You did."

"Oh…well," Lakota mumbled, a faint blush touching her features. "In that case, you're good at it."

The Spectre was relieved that Liara wasn't really fighting her on the subject of leaving the medical facility. In truth she was offering a rational alternative, one that the two women standing out in the hall would consider acceptable. Her only hesitation was the likely awkwardness that would occur since they had yet to talk about the scene at her apartment the night before.

Frowning, Lakota raked her fingers roughly through her long, black locks. She hoped Liara wasn't offering to help out of some noble sense of obligation, especially if it made the Asari uncomfortable in any way. That wouldn't be fair to either of them.

"Liara, I appreciate the offer, but you don't have to do this." The Spectre's voice was a soft whisper, but within the silence of the medbay it was easily discernible as was the pain in her husky tones. Her head dipped down. "I can find somewhere else to stay."

"I'm sure you could, but you're not required to."

Lakota took a deep breath as though fortifying herself, then looked up, her turbulent green eyes meeting the Asari's serene blue. "About the other night-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Liara gently placed the forefinger of her right hand on the Spectre's lips. "We do have a lot to talk about, Shepard, but not right now. Not here. I'll find your clothes and let Miranda and Dr. Chakwas know where you'll be. Then I'll make sure you get out of here."

The Spectre swallowed. "With you?"

A faint smile ghosted over the Asari's lips. "Yes."

Lakota took a breath before she spoke. She didn't want to dare hope, but the possibilities were too immense to ignore. "You're really okay with me staying with you?" she whispered.

Blue eyes seemed to darken, or perhaps a passing shadow deepened the color. "Yes."

Mutely, the Spectre nodded and Liara closed the distance between them, her right hand hesitantly cupping the human's cheek. "It's okay, Shepard. I want you to come with me."

Lakota sighed heavily, melting into the caress and releasing a tightness in her chest that had persisted since their argument. Her left hand held the Asari's in place as she turned her head pressing a tender, sensual kiss onto the blue palm. "Thank you."

Liara leaned forward until their foreheads gently brushed together, her other hand coming to rest on the opposite cheek. They stayed that way for a long time, statuesque, with the Asari's hands reverently framing her lover's face, taking comfort in the simple tranquility of the moment until their breath and pulse had found a unified, steady rhythm.

The Asari sighed contentedly. "I've missed you."

"You have no idea how much I've missed you," Lakota replied honestly, feeling better about things.

With great care, Liara enveloped Lakota completely in her arms, holding her so tightly that the Spectre could scarcely breathe... not that she was complaining. It was exactly what was required, and Lakota clung to Liara as if her life depended on it, burying her face in the enticing hollow of her neck, inhaling her fragrance deeply as she surrounded herself with the soothing warmth of the Asari.

_It's going to be all right_, Lakota thought in relief. Liara really did understand. Even when she stumbled, Liara was still by her side, ready to help in any way.

Her emotions still on edge, the Spectre felt her chest grow full, tears stinging her eyes. Some part of her mind registered that the emotional intensity was probably caused by the chemical imbalance, but she didn't care. Being wrapped in her lover's arms was such a safe place for her, a secure haven in this poignant moment that she didn't want to let go.

"I've been feeling so lost," Lakota confessed, barely above a whisper. "So alone."

"It's okay, Shepard," Liara murmured fiercely in her ear. "I'm here." She held her lover closely, placing soft lingering kisses on her forehead, along her cheek, on the side of her neck, projecting all the love and tenderness she felt for the woman in her arms without the need of words.

"Yes, you are." Lakota closed her eyes and tightened her embrace, knowing that no matter what else happened, she had all she truly needed to survive right here in her arms.

"Liara."

"Yes, Shepard?"

"Take me home."


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:**

Thank you to those who are following this story and especially to those who have left reviews. Someone once mentioned that reviews on FFN are like currency and in a way, they are right. Reviews are as good as gold. :)

Also, hats off to my beta reader, Lyaksandra. My war on grammar never had a better ally. ;)

* * *

Chapter 14

_Wellington, New Zealand, Earth  
17:00 hrs_

Early evening had set in by the time Lakota and Liara left the Alliance medical facility. With the leverage of newly prescribed medication, detailed instructions on proper nutritional intake and an omni-tool upgrade that monitored and recorded the Spectre's vital signs, both Miranda and Dr. Chakwas had finally agreed to let Lakota depart with Liara. Even though she argued adamantly for her release, the Spectre was still surprised when permission was granted. Neither Miranda nor Chakwas were prone to yielding quite so easily, but she was grateful for the concession nonetheless.

The pair hailed a cab instead of walking or trying to find an Alliance shuttle and within twenty minutes they were entering the hotel where Liara was staying. By the time they reached the penthouse suite, Lakota felt in need of a shower and after a brief tour of the luxurious space she retreated to the master bathroom. She was pleasantly surprised when she found a bag full of her personal toiletries on the vanity countertop and assumed Liara confiscated it from her quarters on the Normandy. The familiar light floral scent of her shampoo and conditioner along with the clean, refreshing fragrance of the hand crafted soap helped relax both her mind and body.

After her shower, Lakota grabbed two clean white towels from the linen shelf, then stepped lightly over to the double sink vanity. She proceeded to dry her dark hair with one towel and use the other to dry off her body wrapping it around her torso afterward. When she glanced into the large mirror that hung above the vanity, water still dripping from her chin, she froze. The haunted image returning her stare was somewhat unfamiliar, but she took note of the vulnerable, pale green eyes peering back at her. They were luminescent when contrasted against her honey-toned skin. Unblemished skin. Touching her right eyebrow, Lakota haltingly traced a diagonal line over her nose, across her left cheek and ended at her jaw bone. The trademark seven-inch scar that she acquired when she was sixteen had vanished three years prior while in Cerberus' hands, and in its place was perfect, beautifully smooth skin. Flawless skin.

The absence of the once familiar scar still jarred her at times.

Letting the towel drop to the floor, Lakota scrutinized her nude body with detached curiosity, as though she was a stranger looking at it for the first time. A shiver traveled down her spine, but she wasn't sure if it was from the cool air nipping at her damp skin or from the haunted eyes staring back at her. After eight days her broken bones had mended, the dermal cream had erased any signs of second degree burns, and the multiple contusions and lacerations had all but vanished from her body.

She wasn't without permanent marks, though.

Like a moth being drawn to a flame, her vacant eyes were brought to focus on the faded image of a six inch scar that traveled vertically down her sternum between her breasts, stopping abruptly when it reached her abdomen. Another leftover reminder of her time with the Lazarus Project. At first, she was uncomfortable with the various surgical scars dispersed across her body and although the facial scarring and the marks along most of her skin had receded long ago, she still knew where each and every one was located. They were a reminder of what she had lost and also a reminder of all that had changed, but given time she had come to terms with the differences and even taken strength from them. During some of the darker moments in her healing process, Liara's unconditional acceptance had been like a guiding light offering aid when she had felt the most lost.

Lakota twisted, so she could see her back in the mirror. The ten-inch tattoo of a medicine wheel no longer existed, another piece of her previous life that was missing. The marker, much like her facial scar, had represented a pivotal time in her early life. It had been a symbol reflecting the connectedness to all living things, but had been removed as easily as wiping fog from a mirror. In its place was a long angry scar that traveled the length of her spine with neat surgical precision, pallid in hue, yet still noticeable after three years. Her right hand reached behind to her back and her fingertips began to slowly trace the raised, slightly puckered skin. The vicious mark wasn't wide, only half the width of her index finger, but the contrast compared to flawless soft skin on either side was visually shocking, and the difference only increased as it moved lower. At the base of her spine the scar became more extensive, flaring out in a semi-circle shape, reminiscent of a spider's web, with the lines eventually fading away when they reached the fleshier areas of her body.

Suddenly, an eerie chill trickled through her, sprouting at the back of her head then slipping down her spine like droplets from a melting glacier, cold and primal, leaving a residual numbness that stretched out to her limbs. She stared at her reflection, unblinking and inexpressive, wondering briefly if it truly was her body in the mirror. The image staring back at her was not one she would have expected three years ago, but now somehow it was hers and it was unmistakably real. A body enhanced with cybernetic implants that were now beginning to fail.

Preceded by a weighty, thoughtful sigh, Lakota turned around and faced her wayward reflection squarely.

What did it actually mean that her implants were failing? What happened to initiate the issue and why wasn't she feeling the effect of their breakdown more acutely? Miranda and Chakwas had done extensive testing on her body's physical resiliency and vital statistics, none of which showed any indication of being diminished or in distress because of the complications with her cybernetics. Other than the chemical imbalance, her body seemed to be adapting to the situation. Only time would tell if the pattern would continue.

As if to clear the disconsolate thoughts, she shook her head taking in a deep breath and then returned her gaze to those moody, green eyes. Instead of ruminating on questions for which she had no answer, she decided to be more proactive and began to dress without further ado. While she showered, Liara had placed clean clothes on the vanity—a white bra and matching underwear, heather grey sweatpants, and a white cotton tank top—which just so happened to be the Spectre's favorite comfy clothes. Undoubtedly, the researcher had acquired the items from the Normandy at the same time she gathered up the personal toiletries.

"Feel better?" Liara asked as she leaned her shoulder against the entryway watching her lover don a pair of white crew cut socks.

The bathroom encompassed as much space as the Asari's quarters on the Normandy, but was undeniably more elegant. In front of her, on the far wall, was a curved alcove housing a Jacuzzi large enough to comfortably accommodate two people. The tub seemed to spring out of the natural stone tiles that covered the floor and walls creating a feeling of being in a majestic outdoor haven. To the right were the double sink vanity and a door that led to a private washroom. The vanity top was made out of the same natural stone as the rest of the room, but the base was built of wood with a golden oak color that complemented the neutral tones covering the rest of the room beautifully. Long white towels with the look of extra soft cotton hung around the room at various strategic spots—around the sinks, next to the Jacuzzi and next to the walk-in shower, which was located on the left side of the room, while the two towels the Spectre used had been discarded on the floor near her feet.

Lakota turned, flashing Liara a wry grin. The mere sound of the Asari's voice tempered her somber mood instantaneously. The sight of her made it vanish completely. "Much. You definitely take rehabilitation to a new level. The penthouse suite is going to be hard to beat next time I need a place to recuperate."

"After spending half my life at remote dig sites with little to no amenities and then another quarter of it on space stations or ships with limited resources, I promised myself nothing less than first class when planet side."

"Oh, I'm not complaining, Doctor." The Spectre padded over to the Asari, so they stood face to face. "I just wanted to let you know that if you ever get lost, I'll know exactly where to find you."

"That shouldn't be a problem, Commander," the researcher said playfully.

"No?"

"No," Liara replied, an affectionate smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Because I don't plan on ever letting you out of my sight again." Then she closed the distance between them, placing a sweet, lazy kiss upon Lakota's lips.

The Spectre's hands instinctively grasped the Asari's hips and drew her in as blue arms wrapped around her neck. Lakota's still damp hair hung loosely around her face, allowing Liara's fingers ample room to become possessively entangled within it while her nails raked sensuously along her lover's scalp. Then, as though choreographed, soft lips parted allowing for the delicately slow dance of inquisitive tongues, which elicited a beguiled, low moan from the Spectre.

Lakota's left hand drifted up her lover's back enjoying the supple curves and firm muscles along the way while her right snaked around Liara's waist. Gently tightening her embrace so their bodies were pressed against one another, she deepened the exotic kiss by granting full access to her lover's enticing tongue. Lost in the blissful temptation of luring and being lured, Lakota's world faded until only the sensations bequeathed by the Asari's deftly skilled seduction were her sole breadth of life.

Time leisurely slipped away while the lovers immersed themselves unreservedly in the provocative, loving dance too long neglected. Since Lakota woke in the Alliance hospital, they had been out of sync with each other, sharing but a few brief moments of affection. Now though, their universes seemed to come together—having the time, the opportunity and the desire matching up equally for both of them so they could indulge in the decadent rewards.

"You still know how to take my breath away," Liara whispered as she reluctantly pulled her lips away, letting her forehead fall forward until it brushed against her lover's.

"I have a confession."

"Oh?"

Lakota smiled wickedly. "I want to do more than take your breath away."

"If you play your cards right, you just might get that opportunity."

The Spectre responded in the low, husky tone that never failed to thoroughly thrill the Asari. "Doctor, it's not _my_ cards I'm interested in playing with right now." Then she playfully tightened her embrace to highlight her meaning.

"Patience, Commander," Liara said, her eyes sparkling in merriment.

They stayed wrapped in each other's arms, content to breathe in the moment of tranquility and togetherness. In the last few months, their lives had been filled with excessive tragedy, remorse and anger. The last few days had seen those same aspects overflow into their personal relationship. Taking time to revel in the feeling of being comforted and loved seemed like an adequate, if not hard won reward for all they had suffered.

Lakota cleared her throat. "Liara," she began, sounding uncomfortable, "about the other night…"

"Shepard, please, you don't need to apologize."

"But-"

Liara took a step back, pivoting slightly as though she was going to head into another room. "You don't-"

Lakota captured the Asari's forearm, forcing her to stop and turn around so they were once again face to face. "Liara, I _do_ need to apologize," she said emphatically, her eyes wordlessly pleading for understanding.

The researcher regarded her lover thoughtfully, then silently conceded when she saw the pain and uncertainty in the troubled eyes staring back at her.

Before uttering a syllable, Lakota captured both of the Asari's hands in hers, placing a soft kiss on the back of each as though conferring her regret in the gentle caress. "I'm sorry about the other night. I was trying so hard to control my irritation with everything... not feeling well, Javik's attitude, the Alliance watching my every move, not being able to get in touch with you… but, I just made it worse. Then you were there and I felt my irritation grow. The more I tried to contain it, the angrier I became... and the less control I had." Lakota exhaled slowly. "That's not an excuse. It's just how it happened. I never intended to scare you."

Liara hesitated, and then carefully raised her hand, drawing her fingertips lightly along the Spectre's cheek. "You weren't yourself."

"I'm responsible for my own actions," Lakota said stiffly. Then, she inhaled deeply, her jaw quivering, her eyes dark and stormy as she raised them to meet the Asari's squarely.

A compassionate smile graced Liara's lips as her hand opened and tenderly cupped her lover's cheek, her fingertips gently playing with the strands of hair on the back of her neck. "You are being too hard on yourself. You heard what Miranda and Dr. Chakwas had to say. You were under an unusual amount of stress… emotionally, mentally, physically… Then, with the added influence of your body's chemical imbalance-"

"A bitch was born," the Spectre finished sardonically and then lowered her head.

Liara dipped her head in response, catching her lover's eye and offering her a small smile. "Shepard, it's okay. I forgive you."

Lakota hesitated, then allowed herself a wan smile, though her gaze was still dark and troubled. "I'm not sure I deserve it, but… okay."

"Hey," the researcher's mouth softened as her arms enveloped the Spectre in a tight embrace. "Maybe you've forgotten, but… I love you."

Lakota felt a melting inside her as her guilt and shame dissolved under the unconditional devotion of her partner. For the first time in what seemed an eternity, though it was only a few days, she felt as if she was finally thinking clearly. "I love you too, Liara," she whispered fiercely, returning the embrace.

"I know," Liara replied, snuggling her body in that familiar way—tucked up under her lover's chin—as if there were only the two of them in the universe and nothing else mattered. "Which is why I also know you'd never intentionally hurt me."

Lakota placed a soft, lingering kiss on the Asari's forehead, then nestled her cheek against the warm skin her lips had just anointed. "True," she whispered. "Never."

After a few peaceful moments within each other's arms, Liara sighed contentedly and lifted her head off of the Spectre's shoulder, blue eyes finding the deep pools of light green. She smiled lovingly while leaning in to bestow a gentle kiss on the Spectre's lips. The contact was unimaginably soft, and yet, it was hypnotically sensual in its allure.

As Liara's body pressed up against Lakota's, a soft, startled gasp parted the human's lips, which created the perfect opportunity for the asari's tongue to dart into her mouth. The sharp teeth, silky smooth inner cheek, rough tongue, and incredible heat, left Lakota's senses burning. Her mouth moved under Liara's, following the leisurely rhythm of their smoldering exchange.

"There are other things for us to talk about," Lakota said reluctantly after the enthralling kiss had ended.

Liara nodded in agreement. "First, however, you're going to eat," she instructed, and was abruptly in motion again, pulling Lakota along with her.

Surprised, the Spectre protested. "But I'm not-" she tried to say as she was propelled through the penthouse to the kitchen and directed to sit on a stool at the breakfast bar. "Really, Liara, I'm not that hungry."

"Too bad," the Asari said crisply while she stood at the other side of the mini-kitchen, next to the counter with her back towards the Spectre, intent on some unfathomable task involving some unfamiliar equipment.

Lakota leaned forward, placing her elbows on the bar with her hands clasped together forming a triangle. As she rested her chin on her thumbs, she smiled, idly enjoying the view of the Asari's curvaceous posterior and graceful poise. The researcher was mesmerizing to behold. Her movements in the small kitchen were both adept and minimalistic like a dancer whose fluidity was bound not only in the current pose but knowing how it blended into the next.

A pleasant shudder passed through Lakota as unbidden images of her lover's physical prowess and flexibility flashed in her mind. She breathed in deeply as though inhaling the erotic memories, savoring each one and lightly biting her lower lip in the process. After a moment, she softly exhaled, basking in the intimate remembrances as they faded from view.

Then, an unmistakable aroma assaulted Lakota nostrils, and with a dazed wonder, she watched Liara bring over a mug, the contents steaming slightly. She received the hot beverage with both hands and almost immediately brought the cup to her lips. However, she did not drink. Instead, she breathed in deeply, as if paying homage to some ambrosial nectar, luxuriating in the unique scent of the strong, bitter brew. Then, she exhaled slowly, her expression softening to reflect the soothing effect the aroma had on her mind.

"Few smells are as comforting to me as this."

Blue eyes twinkling, Liara replied, "I remember."

"Oh my," the Spectre said, taking her first, ecstatic taste of the freshly ground black coffee. "_You_ are a godsend, T'Soni."

"I learned back on the Normandy that the quickest way to your heart was through a good cup of black coffee."

"My heart? Hell, I'll give you my soul."

"What makes you think it's not mine already?" Liara said cheekily, winking for added effect. Then, she spun on her heel, returning to the counter and her preparations.

The Spectre laughed as she took another drink of the dark brew, savoring the rich, smooth blend that was the absolute best she had ever tasted. "This is absolutely divine. Thank you."

Liara glanced back, smiling a glowing smile over her shoulder. "I'm glad you like it," she replied, as she pulled down the oven door and removed a covered dish.

After a few moments of arranging, she returned to the table with a stack of buttermilk pancakes, maple syrup, utensils and butter. "Here… you need to eat."

As if on cue, Lakota's stomach growled. "Liara," she said contemplating the steaming plate of pancakes, "this is amazing." She placed her mug on the counter and looked at the Asari with an awestruck expression. Now she knew what the Asari was doing while she showered. "How in the world did you manage this? The coffee alone is impressive, but with the strict rationing and non-existent supply chains both the flour and sugar should have been impossible to find."

"Apparently, impossible is not beyond my reach."

"Apparently not."

"I know it's your favorite," the Asari explained nonchalantly, "so I keep a small supply of ingredients on hand… in case of emergencies."

"And this is an emergency?"

"I believe it is."

"Oh," the Spectre mumbled dumbly. She was both stunned and touched that the researcher had gone to such efforts for her. "I'm not sure I can eat all this though."

"Well, since I made them, you must try," Liara ordered loftily, and then softened. "What you can't eat, I'll finish. Nothing will go to waste."

Reluctantly, Lakota surrendered and buttered the pancakes with a knife, poured some maple syrup on them and then cut them into small square pieces. When she brought a full forkful to her mouth and closed her lips around the small fluffy wedges, her eyes became twice as large as normal. "Holy Mother of Garrus," she moaned in delight. Then her eyes closed as she savored the buttery, sweet delicacy that seemed to melt in her mouth. "I forgot how good your pancakes are." Lakota opened her eyes, smiled mirthfully, and then set about devouring the meal in front of her.

In between bites, the Spectre commented, "I think these could have helped us win the war."

Liara raised a curious eyebrow. "You do?"

"I believe," Lakota said, a faint smile touching her lips, "when lost in fear and despair or in hopelessness and tragedy that salvation can be found in a pancake."

"And if there are no pancakes readily available?" Liara asked teasingly.

The Spectre paused, looking thoughtfully at the forkful of fluffy goodness in front of her. "Fortunately, rescue can still be found in other ways. Like a kind gesture, a subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace. Not to mention a reliable sniper rifle, a bubble bath, a good cup of coffee and maybe the occasional omni-tool upgrade."

"That's quite the list."

"But the list is much larger than that because it's the nuances, the subtleties, the anomalies which we assume only accessorize our days that actually do a whole lot more and for a much larger and nobler cause."

"They offer reassurance?" Liara offered.

"Reassurance is part of it." Lakota sipped some more coffee, relishing in the full-flavored liquid as it slipped past her tongue. "Life is made up of so many tiny details. If you stop noticing the details, stop finding enjoyment in them, then the big picture doesn't end up meaning very much."

"So your advice is to pay attention to life's little details?"

The Spectre nodded adamantly. "They're here to save our lives, after all."

"That's quite the responsibility." Liara noticed that the Spectre's coffee cup was empty, so she refilled it after getting a glass of orange juice for herself.

Lakota returned her lover's kindness with a thankful smile. "I know the idea may seem strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because… I think this pancake just saved my life."

Liara smiled affectionately and leaned forward to plant a brief but hard and sensuous skiss on her lover's lips. "There is no other in the universe like you, Commander."

"And there is no other like you, Doctor," Lakota said somewhat wistfully. "If the universe were all the same…"

"…then there would be no remarkable pancakes to enjoy."

"Exactly!"

The Spectre sat back in her chair, sipping from a second cup of the wonderful brew and studying her lover across the counter, realizing suddenly that times like these had been too few and far between. To sit and have breakfast together, to spend a lazy moment in each other's company... she had been denying herself one of the simple pleasures, life's little details that she'd just finished talking about, something that makes life worth living.

Liara looked at her curiously. "Are you full?" she asked.

"Stuffed," the Spectre said, patting her stomach. "That was wonderful, Liara. Thank you."

"You need to eat," Liara replied, and there was a hint of rebuke in her voice.

Lakota wondered exactly what Miranda and Dr. Chakwas had told her when they were conferring alone. Well, she would deal with that later, or maybe she _would_ let someone else take care of her for a while. That thought made her smile. "If you keep serving coffee and pancakes, I don't think that will be a problem." Regarding the Asari with loving eyes, she added, "But you shouldn't worry too much. I've gone a lot longer eating a lot less during a time that was a lot more stressful."

"That's a lot of a lots."

"And with good reason." Lakota took another sip of coffee, then stared intently into the mug of dark liquid. "After waking up in that Cerberus lab, it took three weeks before my body could handle solid food."

"I… I didn't know that."

"Other than Chakwas, no one did. Well, except maybe for Miranda." A soft, teasing smile played on Lakota's lips. "She's like you. She likes to snoop."

Liara pursed her lips at the smug look on the Spectre's face. "Well, I care about you, so it's my prerogative to worry. Especially since it's in your nature to neglect your health."

Lakota scoffed. "I don't neglect my health."

The Asari rolled her eyes in disbelief as she took a sip from her glass of orange juice.

"What? I'm as healthy as a horse."

Not being familiar with the native Earth equine, Liara raised a bewildered eyebrow.

"Think of it as a really big varren with long legs."

"Shepard," Liara said, sounding slightly incredulous, "you just left the hospital. I doubt you are as healthy as this… creature or any other for that matter."

"I bet I'm healthier than a pyjak."

"I know you sometimes act like one."

Lakota laughed, almost choking on her coffee.

Although Liara had been teasing, there were times when the Spectre shared characteristics with the "space monkies", but she also suspected that it was usually a deliberate act on her lover's part.

With an impish gleam in her eye, the Spectre said, "Then it's a mystery why you put up with me at all, Doctor."

"Actually, that's quite simple, Commander. Multiple orgasms."

This time Lakota did choke on her coffee.

…

_19:30 hrs_

"Shepard, why were you at the gardens this morning?"

The pair were lounging together on the long, dark brown couch which faced the picture windows overlooking the bay, enjoying the brilliant hues of orange and red splashed across the sky as the sun began to dip below the horizon.

"Samara was helping me with some mediation techniques. I was desperate to get my emotions under control." Lakota shifted her shoulders a bit, settling further into the overstuffed cushions. "Who knew that all it would take to correct was some drugs?" She chuckled softly. "Guess that proves I'm not a sociopath."

"They're still ruling out psychopath," Liara said teasingly.

"There's probably a drug to correct that, too."

The Asari leaned in, placing a soft kiss on her lover's right cheek. Then, she snuggled in as close as she could get, resting her head on the Spectre's shoulder. "What else did the two of you talk about?"

"What I remembered."

"Tell me about it."

And Lakota did.

Her eyes clouded over as she began recounting the events after the Normandy's emergency EVAC. She did this without inflection or added emotion or apology, speaking as though she was giving a mission debriefing to the Alliance Command Council.

Liara, for her part, listened quietly with single-minded intensity. She was very still, sitting with her knees together, feet propped up on the coffee table. She had changed from her blue and white jumpsuit into cream colored satin lounge pants and a matching long sleeved, button-down blouse. She nodded her head, furrowed her brows and pursed her lips at various times during the recounting, but she never interrupted or asked any questions. Instead, she listened with her whole self.

Lakota spoke of running toward the beam and her first moments on the Citadel, the macabre scene with the Keepers shuffling around mutilated bodies. She relayed the conversation with Anderson and the Illusive Man, described the Cerberus leader's visible marks of indoctrination and how she convinced him to reclaim his humanity and take his own life. Her voice broke once during her narration and that was when she recited the last conversation she had with Anderson before he died quietly at her side. Although she knew her recollections were in some way false, Anderson after all was actually alive, the rawness of the remembered event and the sentiment woven in their conversation was still overwhelming.

From that point, she went on to describe meeting the Catalyst and the story it relayed about the Reapers, the cycle and the Crucible. Then, she recited the options it presented, the ramifications of each, and the choice she ultimately made. Lakota even spoke honestly about the fact that she thought she was knowingly going to her death. Although it seemed a shame that Liara would have to know such a thing since it was bound to make her anxious on some level, but a long time ago they had agreed that neither of them would decide what the other one should know.

Liara was silent for a moment, still curled up against Lakota, watching as the last rays of light over the bay faded away. She breathed quietly, collecting her thoughts. "Obviously, I've always known what you do is dangerous." Then, she smiled slowly, though there wasn't any pleasure in it. "After all, you died once already."

"I'm sorry that what I do always seems to spill out over us."

Liara shook her head once. "You don't need to be," she said. "It's not an aspect that I am particularly fond of, but it can't be helped, especially now. Our… _occupations_ overlap in more ways than one these days." She squeezed her lover's hand reassuringly. "Tell me the rest."

With her lover's encouragement, Lakota relayed her doubts.

The Catalyst told her that all synthetics would cease to exist, but that hadn't happen. EDI was still with them, along with a large percentage of the Geth. Even she lived through the ordeal. She had been so sure the Catalyst's bleak ending would come to pass, and even though her heart and mind had screamed against the limited choices, her instincts said it was telling the truth. Now, however, since events didn't unfold that way, she questioned whether or not there was some choice, some path that she missed. Could she have avoided all of this? Could she have saved all the Geth?

Lakota shrugged her shoulders. "Of course, there's another possibility," she said grimly. "The Catalyst lied about everything."

"Or," Liara offered, "it was just guessing what would happen."

Pale green eyes blinked back at her.

Liara tilted her head and a delicate smile played on her lips as she carefully scrutinized the woman in front of her. "You are assuming too much. You assume that it could predict what the Crucible would do once activated, but there's no way it could have known. Not absolutely. The Crucible was an unknown quantity and all the Catalyst could offer was a logical deduction, an educated guess as to what might happen. Of course it would try to manipulate and push you towards an end that would complete its perceived perfection, because that was its primary objective. It admitted as much while talking with you."

"True. It was really pushing the synthesis option."

"You have to stop second guessing yourself," Liara said, not unkindly. "It's counterproductive."

"It's not about second guessing my choice. It's about taking a second look at the whole thing. The big picture." Frowning, Lakota continued, "I was found in London, buried under a building. If I was really on the Citadel, how did I get there?"

"And you thought Anderson died…"

"Right, but he didn't. He's alive."

"I wonder what that means for the Illusive Man."

"I don't know, though I suspect nothing good. You and I both thought he was indoctrinated before we got to London." Lakota paused for a moment remembering the visual effects of the alien tech imbedded within his skin. "Piece of shit warned the Reapers we were coming," she growled.

Liara placed a calming hand on her lover's thigh. "If you're not second guessing your choices, then why have you been so… self-castigating?"

The Spectre sighed heavily while her hand covered the blue one on her thigh, squeezing as though it was a grounding entity. "It's a combination of things, but ultimately I was having trouble reconciling the fact that I was willing to end EDI's life. In fact, to end the Reapers, I would have sacrificed any one of us. Even you..." She swallowed hard, biting back the shame in the admission.

"I would have gone willingly if it meant their genocide was put to an end." Liara frowned, her eyes darkening perceptibly. "I saw what they did to Thessia… I saw my home world being destroyed, my people being slaughtered by an enemy they couldn't defend against…" Choking back a sob, she said, "I would have done anything… _anything_… to stop them. Dying would have been a small price to pay."

Lakota wrapped her right arm around the Asari's shoulders, pulling her closer and placing a comforting kiss on her forehead. She understood her lover's sentiment and when their eyes met, a silent understanding emerged, one that they'd never fully articulate but was there nonetheless. "I understand."

"Good. So no more guilt about your decision."

"Samara said something similar. And you're both right, but it's not that simple."

"With you, it never is," Liara chided softly.

"Dying was just a consequence. And while I might feel bad for killing someone, it's not the same as feeling shame for my choice. The choice that caused their death."

"Agreed, but in this situation, like so many others in life, you were choosing between what's wrong and what's less wrong," Liara insisted. "You rarely have the luxury of a clearly defined 'right' in any given situation. And sometimes, even when it does seem right, it's not right at all."

The Spectre frowned, obviously ruminating on the Asari's words seriously. "I don't know," she finally said, and now her tone was one of frustration.

"I don't believe that anyone else could have defeated the Reapers." Liara's left hand slid down to her lover's knee, her thumb rubbing along the soft, cotton fabric in a soothing motion. "I don't believe that we, or the ship, would have survived for as long as we have without your leadership."

An expression crossed the Spectre's face, soft and vulnerable. "I don't get to hear that much," she admitted quietly. "Though I suspect you're biased."

Liara raised an eyebrow. "Not in this," she said as emphatically as possible. "None of us would have followed anyone less than you, Shepard. At one point you commanded ex-Cerberus operatives, a Krogan, Quarian, Turian, Salarian, Asari, Geth, and Drell, along with a fully sentient unshackled AI… No one else could have forged such a diverse crew into one that functioned so well." She paused, searching for the proper words. "I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. Even before we were involved romantically, I spoke with many about you and your abilities."

"I do recall an incident where you hacked my Alliance personnel files…"

"That only happened once," Liara said haughtily. "Still, I learned more about you by listening while others spoke in places such as the Mess or the observation lounge. The overwhelming opinion is that you're a formidable leader and one they served without hesitation."

Lakota frowned in confusion as if disbelieving what her lover had said.

The Asari took the Spectre's hand in her own, studying the long fingers, the squarely cut nails. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you this before, but it just didn't occur to me. I think we all believe on some level that you're absolutely confident, that you don't need any encouragement or appreciation. That was a wrong assumption."

Lakota smiled shyly and squeezed Liara's hands. "Thank you for telling me now," she said sincerely.

Liara's right hand reached out, capturing the back of the Spectre's head and gently guided their lips together in a quietly poignant kiss that was both comforting and mesmerizing.

Afterwards, the pair leaned back, snuggling together on the couch. They were content to watch the stars slowly make an appearance over the city's skyline while existing in the peaceful stillness of the moment.

"I've been having these dreams…" Lakota said hesitantly, breaking the companionable silence.

"Commander?"

"No. Not like that," the Spectre said, playfully nudging the Asari with her shoulder. "But I do admit that my lead in was a bit deceptive."

"What are they about?"

Lakota sighed heavily and then her lips pursed together as though ruminating on a distasteful thought. "Death. Destruction. Whole worlds dying. I don't recognize them, and it's a different one each time. The images are so vivid and disturbing that I hesitate to call them dreams. They're more like nightmares. I know that doesn't sound strange when you consider what we've just gone through, but it's not the content that's so… unsettling. It's the feeling…"

"The feeling?"

"Like I'm divided. That I'm of two worlds, both a participant and a spectator." Lakota's gaze shifted to looking out the window onto Wellington bay and the city's moonless nighttime skyline. From the confines of the penthouse, the panoramic waterscape appeared serene and peaceful. "There's an overwhelming sense that the images are real, the places are real, the people dying are real… and I'm just remembering it all."

Liara sat up, twisting slightly so she was facing her lover, directing her full attention to the shift in conversation. Her legs were tucked behind her on the cushions while her left arm stretched across the top of the couch. Her fingers crept into the hair at the back of Lakota's neck, reveling in the feel of the silken threads and the warm skin beneath her touch. "That sounds familiar. Like the visions you had after touching the Prothean Beacon on Eden Prime."

Nodding, the Spectre said, "I thought the same thing." Her voice became more intense as she continued. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but there's something important in them. I know it. I feel it. A message of some kind…"

Liara's eyes narrowed. She didn't think the feeling was crazy at all. "Shepard… when you were recovering in the hospital after your surgery, but wouldn't wake up… something happened…" Her voice tapered off as memories of that night – ones woven in fear and confusion – drifted through her mind.

Lakota kept quiet and waited for her lover to continue.

"While sitting at your bedside, I fell asleep and when I woke I was in one of your dreams." The Asari paused to collect her thoughts. One aspect from that experience still sent chills down her spine. "It was exactly like the reoccurring nightmare you described to me, except for one difference. There was a bodiless voice overshadowing everything, but I was unable to recognize it or anything about it."

"What did it say?"

"It repeated three words over and over again: Leave this place."

"That won't win you any friends," Lakota said sarcastically. "What did you make of it?"

"At the time, I didn't give it much thought because soon after you awoke. And for an Asari, sharing dreams with someone they're exceptionally close to...," Liara bit her lower lip nervously, "…a bondmate, is not uncommon. But now, with you having these dreams…"

Hearing the term endearment sent a warm, pleasurable tingle through Lakota's body and she couldn't help the adoring grin that erupted immediately afterward. "Yeah, makes you wonder what's going on in my head."

Liara nodded. "It does."

"What about melding?" the Spectre asked. "You were able to help me decipher the images from the beacon, maybe it would work on these, too."

"It might. I think it's worth trying."

"Good. So… now? No time like the present?"

"No. Not tonight. I think tomorrow would be better… After we've both gotten some rest." Liara smiled shyly, admiring the luminescent depth of the pale green eyes, unique and striking, that were staring back at her. "I didn't sleep well last night."

"Neither did I," Lakota said while leaning in to placing a quick kiss on her lover's cheek. She knew exactly why neither of them had slept well and felt a brief stab of shame in that awareness.

Smiling mischievously, Liara replied, "Then we'd both better get our required amount of sleep tonight."

The Spectre opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat and instead she returned the coy smile with one of her own. Like so many other times before, the human had been rendered speechless by the seductive being at her side. The shimmering fabric of the Asari's loungewear hugged her subtle curves and svelte lines with intimate finesse, creating an aura of both ethereal grace and divine elegance. And the dazzling blue eyes—lively and inviting—hinted at the enthralling possibility of becoming lost within their depth. Any one of these facets alone would have been enough to make the Spectre pause, but all of them woven together created an irresistible vision of provocative beauty.

Lakota's draw to Liara went beyond the mere aspects of physical beauty, though. Over the years, she had come to rely on the Asari's input, her scientific if not logical point of view, offering the balance the Spectre needed. It was an objective eye when faced with difficult decisions. As their relationship deepened, Liara's importance within her life matured into a powerful role. She became more than a lover, more than a squad mate, more than a helper—she was a true companion.

"I just realized something important," Lakota said, stroking Liara's arm. "It's obvious now that I think about it… but I guess I never really took the time to look at it."

"What's that?"

"I think I could handle all of this without you…"

Liara tilted her head, blinking back her confusion. "I'm sure you could, too."

"But I _know_ I wouldn't handle it nearly as well."

The hint of a shy smile curled on the Asari's lips. "Then I'm glad you don't have to, Commander."

"Me too, Doctor," Lakota said reverently. Then, she wrapped an arm around the researcher's shoulders and pulled her close. "Me, too."

…

_22:00 hrs_

The Spectre lay on her back on the couch, resting quietly as she regarded the stars twinkling in the obsidian backdrop of the night sky. Though this had turned into something of an extended discussion, she discovered that it was actually helping her achieve a sort of perspective. It was most definitely an improvement over the long and dreary hours she had spent alone fighting her demons so many times before. She glanced over to where Liara was retrieving some refreshments from the kitchen, bringing both glasses over to the couch. The Spectre rose to let Liara sit down and then settled back, laying her head on the Asari's lap and accepting the glass of water, resting it on her stomach.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The Spectre closed her eyes, feeling a sort of easy detachment steal over her. It was the same sense of alertness that occurred whenever she had been awake for a long time, as if her body was no longer a consideration in how she functioned. She knew that she should be exhausted, and in fact probably was. She had simply moved into the level beyond tiredness... She could go days like this, though the severity of the eventual crash, when it came, was directly proportional to how long and hard she pushed herself.

With her eyes still closed, Lakota asked, "I noticed that you haven't been called away or checked your messages since we arrived. That's unusual."

"Not any longer." Liara tenderly stroked her lover's raven-black hair, enjoying the silky texture of the clean locks. Each caress, hypnotic and soothing, yielded tranquil waves of contentment for both the giver and receiver.

In a hushed, almost indistinguishable tone, Lakota murmured, "No? What changed?"

"I had an epiphany," the Asari stated simply. "Being the Shadow Broker is all consuming, and while we were at war, I was willing to devote every ounce of energy to the organization. But when the war ended, the demands remained. While you were in the hospital I found myself sacrificing the time I had with you to help strangers in need."

Lakota opened her eyes, staring up at her lover's serious expression. "That's sorta what we do."

"Yes, it is." Liara weighed her words before responding. "I still want that life. I enjoy what I do, but I am no longer willing to give up everything else in its pursuit."

"So… the Shadow Broker only has part-time hours now?" Lakota questioned.

"Not exactly," Liara said cryptically. "Instead of trying to do this all on my own, I asked for help."

Somewhat startled by the admission, the Spectre's brows furrowed. "Really? Who's the lucky person with no personal life?"

"Ms. Lawson."

Lakota blinked, clearly surprised. "Miranda?"

"Yes."

"But I thought you hated her."

"Hate is a strong word," Liara said, not quite answering the implied question. "In the past, she and I have disagreed-"

The Spectre interrupted, saying, "Almost came to blows if memory serves me right…"

Liara rolled her eyes in mock exasperation as she continued her explanation. "I still believe she harbors an infatuation towards you, but she is exceptionally qualified. In fact, she was the best choice."

Lakota ignored the comment about Miranda's romantic interest. She felt that the Asari harbored ridiculous thoughts about the ex-Cerberus officer and to express an opinion would only encourage it. "I've no doubt she'll be an asset, and if her help means that I'll be able to spend more time with you, then I'm all for it."

The glass of water—still resting on her stomach—almost slipped out of her fingers, so the Spectre placed it on the coffee table. She applied a full-length, feline-like stretch to her body before settling back down with her head once again resting comfortably in the Asari's lap. "But, when did you decide this? When did she agree?"

"It's been on my mind for a while, but only recently did it become an issue that I wanted to resolve." Liara's fingertips slowly traced the portrait of her lover's face—across the plane of her forehead, following the curve of her dark eyebrows, along the soft flesh of her cheeks, brushing over the length of her nose, and finally tracing the supple line of her lips, eventually coming to rest on the tip of her chin. "After I left your apartment, I met with Miranda. The request didn't surprise her. I think she was more surprised that I wasn't seeking to give it all up. We were at the remote facility discussing the details when she got the call from Dr. Chakwas. Obviously, we still have a lot to sort out, but she's a quick study, and with the help of Glyph and Feron, I believe the transition will be fairly smooth." Blue fingertips moved to smooth back soft strands of dark hair. "It helps that she already has a basic knowledge of the network and what Feron and I have been doing for the past eighteen months."

Lakota sighed happily, savoring the delicious sensation of her lover's fingertips playing with her hair. "I think it's a good match for her," she said honestly. "The position plays to her strengths and I think she'll enjoy the organized chaos."

"I believe so, too," Liara said, stifling a yawn.

"Well, now I know why you're so tired." In truth, Lakota was feeling the drowsy effects of troubled sleep as well. Plus, the Asari's soothing caresses were starting to induce a blissful heaviness throughout her body. "At least we're on the same page."

With a suggestive gleam in her eyes, Liara asked, "So does that mean I can entice you to bed?"

"You don't even have to ask twice."

…

_23:30 hrs_

After brushing her teeth, Lakota entered the dark bedroom, shed her comfy clothes and crawled into the king-size bed. It didn't take long for her to navigate across the silken sheets and find a comfortable position snuggled up against Liara who welcomed her into her arms with open joy.

Although they were both tired, the Asari wasn't surprised when the Spectre immediately sought out her lips. The kiss was wonderfully deep and lingering in the warm darkness as strong hands adoringly caressed the graceful curves and flawless plains of her smooth azure skin. The Spectre needed this healing, Liara suspected. Each of them did in different ways, and she was pleased to both give and receive the pleasurable comfort of a physical joining.

This particular type of lovemaking was extremely slow and gentle, a quiet celebration of delight that basked in the intimacy of their desire and the cherished familiarity of each other's touch. Lakota's hands and mouth were tender, building the yearning in Liara with steady skill even as she loved her in return, pressing against the heat of her body with a delicate, sweet passion. It grew to encompass them, their respiration quickening, the intensity of their caresses increasing as they came together. Wordless demands of pleasure, muttered instructions and incoherent moans filled the night until finally, ecstatically, they surged against each other, the mutual peak throbbing deliciously within them before it released them to the golden afterglow.

Afterward, they lay together in the cozy comfort of the bed with Liara quietly resting her head on Lakota's chest and lazily draping her right arm across her torso. Warmth emanated from the bare skin on skin contact while the rhythmic heartbeat pulsed in the Asari's ear and tingled across her face lulling her into a sedentary, peaceful contentment. She loved that steady sound, both life-affirming and grounding.

Still floating in her own lethargic haze, Lakota tightened her right arm, which was wrapped around Liara's shoulders, directing the Asari to snuggle further into her bare form. Then, breathing in deeply, she drank in her lover's familiar scent, a subtle lavender mixed with a hint of some unknown spice, as her fingertips began to absently trace a path across the alluring landscape of azure skin. Even though spent and exhausted, Lakota needed to feel the body beneath her fingers. It was a way to confirm this moment was real and not a dream.

Soothed by the caresses, Liara placed a series of deliberate, dainty kisses down the soft, heated flesh of Lakota's chest, her tongue gently ruffling the faint ridges of scar tissue angling through the valley of her breasts. She loved this woman, wholly, completely, scars and all. As she closed her eyes to place the final kiss, Liara imagined all of the tenderness and devotion she felt was a luxurious blanket enveloping her lover in lingering depths of enraptured adoration.

When Liara finally opened her eyes, she saw Lakota staring in candid reverence. A shy, coy smile graced the asari's lips and her hand reached out, cupping the back of the Spectre's head, guiding their lips together to relish in their mutual bliss. The passionate yet delicate kiss carried the implied sympathy, the inferred compassion and implicit trust bound within their union.

After the kiss ended, Liara snuggled back into her lover's embrace as though trying to blend their essences again.

"Liara?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

Smiling contentedly, Liara burrowed in even closer. "I love you too."


End file.
